Counting Bodies Like Sheep
by isthisjustfantasy
Summary: [Sequel to 'House of Wolves'] With a new alliance and a new outlook, WWE Divas Champion Georgia Rush is at the top of her game. However, that all gets turned on its head when the Wyatt Family shows up on Raw, and Georgia discovers that being allied with one of the most powerful stables in the WWE is much more complicated than she thought. [Dean AmbrosexOC]
1. Are You Mine

**Author's Note: This is a sequel to my story 'House of Wolves'…..and yes, you really need to read that one to understand what's going on here. As with HoW, this story takes place in a completely kayfabe world. Wrestlers are their characters. Matches are real and unscripted. Any magical/weird/inexplicable powers possessed by wrestlers are unable to be explained but, yes… real (think Kane's pyro).**

**Also, due to the nature of the story that I want to tell, the IRL chronology of certain people's debuts and stuff is all jumbled around, so don't sweat it too much if the Wyatt Family don't turn up until after Summerslam because it's not important. Shhhh...**

* * *

_And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways  
So in case I'm mistaken,  
I just wanna hear you say you got me baby  
Are you mine?_

* * *

We walked triumphantly, the two of us, hand in hand up the ramp towards the curtain, as my former ally and romantic interest Sami Zayn slowly raised his head. In a daze, he looked up and saw the two of us, and then put his head back straight back down on the canvas. It was a gesture of hopelessness—of knowing what he'd lost. I felt a fleeting moment of guilt, because I was the one who had done that to him, but as Dean turned me towards him at the very top of the stage, just in front of the blinding, flashing lights, I felt only excitement, and hunger. He kissed me again, long and deep, for the world and especially Sami to see—to cement our alliance in their minds, and ours. The Ambrose-Rush era had begun.

"Wow," Dean said as soon as we were behind the curtains. He was buzzing, eyes visibly sparking with excitement. "I can't believe you did that. Why did you do that?"

I grinned and shrugged at him. "Kind of owed you one title victory, didn't I?"

"No, but really—I thought…"

"Shh," I said, putting a single finger to his lips and then moving into his arms. He put them around me. He was warm, and slightly slick with sweat from the match. "I can't really explain why I did it, I just—it just had to be you. I've been with the wrong person. I miss whatever it was we had."

That seemed to be a good enough answer for him as I blushed beet red.

"C'mon, I've gotta get back to base," he said, taking me by the hand. "And there's no way I'm not letting _you _out of my sight again."

"Aw, you call meeting up with Rollins and Reigns 'going back to base'? You were already cute but that's fucking adorable." I grinned as he glared back at me, but there was a smirk playing on his lips. I knew how to push at the boundaries with Dean, and he usually liked it when I did.

"You can give me cheek because I like you, okay, but watch your mouth around Seth—I already had to break you two up once, remember," he warned.

"Ah… I'll try," I said. I honestly couldn't promise anything. Me and my big mouth.

Dean walked into the locker room first. I didn't know how Seth and Roman would react to Dean's bringing me back to this location with him. It felt like I was being taken into the batcave.

"Hey, man," I heard Roman's voice as Dean slipped through the door. He was still holding onto my hand as he pulled me through.

"Congrats, dude," Seth added. "Unbelievable."

I rounded the door now, peeking out from behind Dean.

"Oh… hey," Roman said, smiling slightly in my direction. "Thought you might bring this one back with you."

"Well," Dean said, pulling me in close. "Obviously Georgia—we're a thing, I guess." He glanced at me and I nodded once back, encouragingly, not sure where he was taking this. "This doesn't change anything between the three of us—I just… she's going to be around. That's all."

Roman nodded while Seth's face noticeably soured.

"You're lucky only people with gold can join this club," Roman said. I laughed quietly, half out of politeness.

"You're not _in _the Shield, though," Seth felt the need to clarify. "Hope you know that."

Now I laughed freely, and louder. "You couldn't force me into one of those vests anyway."

"Like we'd want to," Dean said, giving me a little squeeze around the waist, and then his hand wandered behind my back, so no-one could see, downwards over my butt where it came to rest.

"But you can ride with us, eat with us, train with us," Roman said. "If you want. Might be good to have a new face, shake things up."

"I'd like that, as long as you're all okay with it," I said. Roman nodded, and I knew Dean was obviously fine with it—it was just Seth now. He gave a little stoic nod, barely discernible—a begrudging admission. He might take a little while to win over, but for now, that was good enough.

"Well, if that's settled," Dean said. "I'd fucking love a shower."

"I've gotta go back to the divas locker room for my stuff," I said to him. Dean nodded, and I waved goodbye to Rollins and Reigns as he escorted me out of the Shield's locker room.

"I'll meet you in the parking lot in about 20, okay?" he said. I nodded. He drew me in again for a long kiss now, a different sort to the one we'd paraded out in the ring. I gently flicked my tongue out, catching the underside of his top lip and he shuddered a little.

"Don't do that," he growled.

"Why?" I purred, nipping at his lip again. I was still flooded with adrenaline. Now alone with Dean in the hallway, I was itching—I was fit to burst out of my skin. He just did things to me, without even trying.

"I've got plans for you later, don't you worry," he muttered, hands roaming over my lower back, over my hips. A jolt of excitement hit me straight in the stomach and I rocked into him gently.

"What if I can't wait that long?" I pouted, hanging onto the straps of his vest now, pulling him down to me. I reached up and closed my teeth around one lush pink bottom lip, tugging at it gently. God, I just wanted him—everything about him I craved, and I hadn't had a fix in what felt like forever. He let out another small, throaty growl and then pushed me away.

"Go get your stuff and meet me in the parking lot before I end up fucking you in the hallway in front of Seth and Roman."

"Fine, fine," I said, laughing. I drew back, smacking him playfully on the rear as I passed him to head back down the hallway.

"You are pushing your fucking luck," he called after me.

"But you love it when I do," I called back, over my shoulder.

* * *

I rode back to the hotel with the Shield: Roman driving, Seth in the front seat, Dean and I in the back. We sat in relative silence—I was still apprehensive to speak, not sure of my place, of how much I'd be permitted in this new environment that up until extremely recently I had considered fairly... hostile.

"What have you got in that bag?" Dean said, glancing down at my gear bag.

"Spare change of clothes, shower stuff, the usual… Why?" I replied. We were getting out of the car now, crossing the short distance to the lobby.

"So you don't need to go back to your room, then," he said. "Til morning."

"No, I suppose not," I said, smirking. I was still completely abuzz—and now extra excited at what Dean was suggesting. In all the times we'd slept together, I'd never actually… _slept_ with him. I'd been too nervous about the whole thing, too uncomfortable. I always went back to my room, or kicked him back to his own. It was just our arrangement. But now, with the secret out… Let's just say I couldn't wait to see his morning hair. I imagined it would be glorious.

"So, uh, see you tomorrow bright and early," Seth said as we exited the elevator together and went to our respective hotel room doors. Seth was right next door to Dean—oh, and so was Roman on our other side. Dean groaned.

"Not too early," he said.

"We can push it back to 8, 8:30, just… please, try to think of your neighbors," Roman reminded Dean.

"Don't worry," he said, trailing a hand down my spine. I shivered, and tried to hide it. "I'll gag her if I have to."

My eyes widened, and again, I tried to suppress my obvious excitement.

"Goodnight guys," Seth said, closing himself into his room before we had any time to reply.

"Aaanyway, congrats man—you too, Georgia," Roman said, opening his door, hanging out of the frame.

"Thanks," I said quietly. Dean waved him off as he fiddled with the door and let us inside.

"So how do we celebrate?" I said, immediately after Dean had closed us into the room. Alone, at last.

"Surely you know by now," he said, smirking at me.

"You might need to show me again."

I dropped my bag beside my feet as Dean placed both his hands over my hips and guided me to the bed.

"What exactly do you need me to show you?" he said, brushing my hair back behind my shoulder.

"I can think of a few things." I lifted up my leg and moved onto the bed, sitting back until I was in the middle of it. Dean stood at the end, curious expression on his face.

"Oh really?"

"For one, I think you should take your shirt off," I said, raising my eyebrows at him playfully. To my utter shock and delight, he unzipped his jacket and threw it to the floor, soon to be followed by his plain white t-shirt.

"Wow, that worked, okay," I said, biting my lip at him.

"You know you're the only one I'd do this for."

"I hope so. Okay, now take your pants off." I raked my eyes over him shamelessly, eyes naturally travelling along the waistline of his jeans, slung so impossibly low that I didn't think it was strictly possible for him to be wearing underwear right now. I licked my lips, unthinkingly.

"You'll burn a hole through my chest with that look, darling," he said, tensing his pectoral muscles. It sent a wave of desire right to the pit of my stomach. He moved his hands to his belt buckle and undid his belt, but, to my dismay, left the button of his jeans fastened. "Now before I go any further, what are you gonna give me in return?"

I shifted onto my knees, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from his stunning torso and pulled my own top over my head. For good measure, I also wriggled out of my jeans, leaving me in just my bra and panties. I crawled towards Dean at the foot of the bed, throwing my hair back over my shoulder. I trailed down his torso with my eyes again, down that beautiful fucking V-line.

"If you don't take those pants off right now I'm going to rip them the fuck off you," I said sweetly.

"I don't doubt that you would." Dean moved his hands and flicked the button undone, followed by the zip, revealing inch by inch and confirming my earlier suspicions. Thank the lord for going commando.

As soon as he was sprung free, I took him into my mouth, sliding my lips all the way down to his base, sucking back up, hollowing my cheeks—Dean was exhaling, hissing slowly through his teeth. His hands fisted into my hair as I bobbed up and down on him, enjoying the satisfying feel of him hardening and pulsating in my mouth.

"God, your mouth feels so fuckin' good," he groaned. I didn't quite realize how much I missed his dirty talk. I could feel myself getting wet already, soaking through the thin fabric of my underwear. He was spurring me on, hissing every curse word under the sun as I worked him harder, faster, with my mouth and now with a hand curled around his base. I drew back and swirled around his head with the very tip of my tongue, purposely looking up at him with big eyes.

He pulled me up by the hair until I was face to face with him. I tried to wipe some of the mixture of saliva and precum from my lip before he kissed me, probing his tongue into my mouth. I sighed, and my sigh turned into a moan as he dragged his hand down my body and hooked his fingers into my underwear, brushing torturously over my entrance.

"Fuck, you're so wet, oh my god," he mumbled against my lips, pushing me back onto the bed. His hand was tugging my panties down frantically now and I did my best to help them off. His other hand had already unhooked my bra.

As I landed on my back, he came crashing down nearly on top of me and slipped his finger deep inside of me. I nearly screamed.

"Oh, baby, you want it so bad, don't you?" he purred, slowly removing his finger and then rolling it over my clit in small circles.

"Mmph," was all I could muster in response. I was almost hyperventilating with desire, I just wanted him. I was burning up now without him inside of me. "Please, Dean, just fuck me."

"That's what you fuckin' want, huh? Really, I should be punishing you, y'know," he said, lips just millimetres from my ear as he slowly, torturously rubbed circles over me. I jerked my hips upwards and the friction wasn't even close to enough, but it was sweet—sickly sweet. "After you said 'never again', left me for Zayn. I was hard for weeks but I couldn't get off. Well, I could, but it wasn't the same. Thinking about you kissing him when you should've been kissing me—fucking him when you shoulda—"

"I didn't fuck him," I choked out desperately, cutting him off. I stole a glance sideways at him and he looked a little surprised. I was breathing hard as Dean increased the speed of his ministrations, but not the pressure, rocking my hips into his hand. I was on the edge of coming but I knew he wouldn't let me—somehow he knew exactly where and how to touch me just to keep me on the brink. "I couldn't," I continued, voice several octaves higher now as pleasure ebbed and flowed and rose to just below my eye level, it felt like. "How could he compare?"

Dean chuckled darkly. "Flattery will get you fuckin' everywhere," he growled, shifting his weight, positioning himself between my legs.

My whole body strained with anticipation as he slowly sunk into me—the sweetest feeling in the fucking world. I brought my hands up to behind his head and brought his lips to mine as he ground through, finding the deepest angle. To keep from crying out I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth and he bucked into me as I scraped my teeth over it.

"Shit, you're so tight," he muttered into my lips. I wrapped my legs around him, drawing him into me, and there was a noticeable change in the urgency of his thrusting. "I'm not gonna be able to stop myself if you keep doing that."

I just pulled him in tighter, pressing my heels into his lower back. I was beginning to grasp at my peak, gathering every scrap of tension into a molten ball in the pit of my stomach.

"Fuck, Dean, don't stop," I panted. The words came out sounding panicked, and much louder than normal. I just needed a little more to—shit, but my world fucking _exploded_ then, and I screamed, forgetting my surroundings, just gasping in big, _huge_ breaths as my vision went white.

A minute later I was watching Dean's face contort as he came after me, and then breathing hot and heavy into the crook of my neck.

"Jesus, baby, you were so loud," he said as he slipped out of me and collapsed to one side. We were both slick with sweat.

"Sorry," I said weakly.

"Fuckin' don't be. But you can apologize to Seth and Roman in the morning if you want."

I put my hands over my face. "Shit."

Dean laughed. "Whatever. They've probably dealt with worse." He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced at the faded hotel alarm clock. "It's not even midnight yet so it's not like we're keeping them up."

"Oh, so they're definitely awake then, that's so much better." I giggled in spite of myself and sat up to search for my clothes.

"What are you doing?" Dean said.

"Getting dress—oh," I said, seeing his expression, slightly incredulous, waiting for me to realize the obvious. I rolled back over to him and put my head on his chest, running my hand up and down the hard muscles of his abdomen. "Old habits, I guess."

"Yeah well cut that shit out. When we're alone together I think you should just… not wear clothes."

I laughed. "Only if you're obeying the same rule."

"Fuckin' deal."

I reached up and Dean pressed his lips to mine—they were slightly swollen from all of my bites and kisses. Resettling myself on Dean's shoulder, I hooked my leg over his, and that was when I noticed that my eyes were flickering shut.


	2. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

_Work it harder, make it better  
Do it faster, makes us stronger  
More than ever, hour after  
Our work is never over_

* * *

Dean must have woken up before me, because when I finally opened my eyes I was sprawled under the covers, face pressed in between two pillows, taking up nearly the whole bed with my limbs. I smiled into the pillowcase. I could hear the faint sounds of water running through pipes and realized Dean must be in the shower.

I rolled over and glanced around the room. The fuzzy orange light from the hotel alarm clock read 7:30am, and I recalled that Roman and Seth wanted to leave at 8, no later than 8:30. I sighed and flicked the covers off of me. I really had to get moving—all my stuff was still up in my room.

Clad only in my underwear from the night before, I walked over to the ajar bathroom door. Steam was escaping into the room, making it slightly humid and warm. I pushed the door open and slipped inside, only to be greeted by the sight of Dean's bare behind and muscular back as he ran shampoo through his hair.

"Thank god for clear shower glass," I mused aloud. In one movement he turned his head around, mouth hanging slightly open, and grinned. I stayed standing there, just watching him, caught between a number of options, weighing up in my mind the potential likelihood of being able to quickly get ready to leave if I got into the shower with Dean right now.

"Either get in here or wait your turn out there," he said. Without saying a word I hooked my thumbs under my underwear at each thigh and stepped out of them, Dean turning his body to fully face me now, more than a little intrigued.

I stepped under the jets with him, pressing my body to his to get as much water coverage as possible. His hands ran over my shoulders and down my back, sending shivers all through me, despite the general steaminess of our surroundings. That lasted for all of about five seconds before he pushed me back against the cold tiles, shocking me slightly due to the drastic change in my skin's temperature, and ran his lips down over my neck and collarbone. I melted against him.

"We don't have time," I groaned, hating myself for saying it.

"There's not enough time in the world for what I want to do to you right now," he growled in response. His erection was pressing up against my lower stomach now, and my automatic response was to reach down and slide my hand down his shaft.

"You better stop," he said, breath hitching as I gripped him, feeling him grow harder with every squeeze. There was no fucking way… I was as turned on as he was now, just from the sight of him all wet and shiny and hard as a fucking rock in front of me. I strained up and managed to connect my lips and tongue to the place where his neck met his shoulders, biting hard and squeezing him at the same time. He growled in response and lifted me up in one movement, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around him. "Look what you fucking did."

The feeling of him slipping inside of me was euphoric, with the water trickling down between our bodies, so wet and slippery and perfectly fitting. He was thrusting frantically as I squeezed him tight with my legs around his back, giving everything we both had into one another. The moment Dean bit into my neck I started the slow but frenzied climb into ecstasy.

"Fuck, harder," I moaned, pleading him for more, just for _everything_. He growled into my neck, unable to reply with his teeth still clenched around my sensitive skin. Without warning, Dean thrust into me to the hilt, pressing the full length of his body up against me. I gasped at the sudden deepness of him inside of me, and before I knew it he had manoeuvred his hands under my knees and was pressing my legs up and outwards until they were almost against the wall. Thank god for flexibility training.

With my arms hooked tightly around his neck, Dean drew out and thrust back in, desperately, painfully slowly, so _deep_, so exposed and at his mercy. I cried out, my eyes flying wide open as he hit that secret spot inside of me, over and over. I was quickly driven over the edge, deflating sweetly, letting noises escape from deep within me that I could barely even hear above the white noise in my ears.

"Shitfuckshit," I heard Dean mutter, and then a liberating, throaty 'ahhhh' as he bucked up into me and I felt the hotness of his release. He gently let me down as I continued to hold onto him for balance, blood rushing back to my lower limbs.

From outside the bathroom, I could hear someone pounding and yelling in a high-pitched voice. That could only be Seth.

"Shit, we're going to be so late, I'm sorry," I said, quickly finding the shower jets and cheap hotel soap over me now as quickly as I could.

"You're _sorry_?" Dean laughed. "Babe, fuck 'em."

"That's all well and good for you, but they're not going to accept me if I make them late all the time and stop you from doing what you need to do to—"

Dean cut me off with a kiss. His face was wet with sweat and warm water from the shower.

"They'll fucking accept you. There's no other choice."

"Okay," I sighed. Accepting was one thing—getting them to like me was another.

* * *

As expected, Seth was giving me death glares as we all climbed in the car at approximately 8:45am, and I was informed that we were going to a local CrossFit gym before a 3pm flight to the next town for Monday Night Raw. There was really no need to hurry—I mean, the airport was only a 45 minute drive, but Seth was clearly earnest. He was already wearing his gym gear, while the rest of us were still in jeans.

"Sorry," I said, silently slipping into the backseat beside Dean as Seth climbed into the passenger side door in front of me. He sniffed and didn't reply.

"We've still got ages," Dean pointed out.

"Anyway, I've never done CrossFit before," I said, clearly directing myself at Seth, just hoping to get a little engagement or maybe just one or two words towards me that weren't overly hostile. "But I've heard pretty good things. What's it all about?"

Seth sighed. "It's kind of hard to explain. We're doing metcon today so as long as you know how to squat, lift and do burpees you'll probably be fine."

"Okay," I said, still somewhat unclear.

The Crossfit gym was unlike anything I'd really seen before. No complicated lat-pulldown or 7-in-1 weight machines, no treadmills, no cross-trainers, not even a fucking spinbike. There were, however, ropes, boxes, a fuckton of kettlebells and, of course, hand weight and bar bells. There were pull-up rigs all across one wall, and five or six ropes hanging from the ceiling. It looked like a cross between a warehouse and a torture chamber.

Seth strode straight over to a big whiteboard with a couple of scribbled workouts on it. I followed after Dean as he headed down a promising-looking hallway and found some change rooms. I slipped into the females' and changed into my tights and green training top. I paused before packing the rest of my bag up, and decided to put on a loose white t-shirt, as well. The gym looked kind of… dirty. I might need it.

Coming out and standing beside Dean to look at the whiteboard, there were quite a few acronyms and short names that I didn't quite recognise. I was familiar with deadlifts and burpees, but the 'HSPU' looked kind of nasty, especially since there were only 5 of them to do apparently.

"What's AMRAP?" I said, nudging him.

"As many reps as possible," he informed me.

"And HSPU?"

"Handstand push-ups."

"Oh, good."

We walked over to Seth and Roman, who were with the trainer as he pointed out the specific areas where exercises were to be completed. He set us all up with a weightlifting station and our weights for the session—mine significantly lighter than the guys', of course. Roman's weights were heaviest, I noticed—Dean's lightest.

From the outset, I kind of felt like I was dying. The burpees were one thing, but pairing them with deadlifts and pull-ups—it wasn't long before my white overshirt lay discarded on the ground next to my towel and water bottle.

I practically dragged myself over to the wall where Dean was upside down and shirtless, pressing down until his head touched the floor and then back up again. I hesitated for a moment, watching him, wondering how best to get into that particular position, when Roman came over to me, having just finished his 5.

"Here," he said. "Just get into the handstand position up against the wall."

I bent over and put my hands to the mat, then kicked my legs up. Roman caught them as I pushed myself upright, keeping me steady against the wall.

"Okay, now put your hands further apart, like you'd do with a push-up—that's it, now press."

I bent my arms and felt myself easily slide down the wall, floor rising up to the tops of my eyeline. Pushing myself up was… significantly harder. As I got to the apex of my first handstand push-up, Roman let go of my legs.

"Four more," he said, patting me on my upside-down knee, and then walked off to continue his own workout.

As I got to the end of my AMRAPs, my legs were like jelly and my hands were shaking every time I went to pick up the damn barbell. When the timer finally counted up to 14:58, 14:59 and rolled over to 15:00 I gently dropped the barbell and sat back, which quickly became me falling back, lying on the mat in the middle of the gym, diaphragm expanding and contracting, trying to gulp in the air as best I could. I was soaked in sweat.

I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, and when I opened them, Dean was standing above me, bare torso shiny with sweat also. His hair was soaked as he peered down at me, grinning. A drop fell from his sodden hair and hit me on the forehead.

"Ew, get away," I said, wiping it off. He laughed and squatted down, helping me back to my feet.

"How was that?" he asked, as I wiped myself over with my towel.

"It felt like dying."

He nodded. "Good, that's how it's supposed to feel."

"I need protein, stat."

"Yeah, we all do. C'mon, let's get changed."

After a long, hot, desperately needed shower (my second one of the day), I changed back into my clothes from the morning and went back to the car. I slumped into the rear seats and rested my head against the coolness of the window. The boys got into the car completely re-energized, and Roman was already talking about lunch before going to the airport, but the thought of food at that point just made me queasy. I swallowed my nausea and chimed in with a suggestion, winding the window down to let the cool air roll across my face.


	3. Sympathy For The Devil

_Please allow me to introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
I've been around for a long, long year  
Stole many a man's soul and faith_

_Pleased to meet you_  
_Hope you guess my name_  
_But what's puzzling you_  
_Is the nature of my game_

* * *

Bray Wyatt had plans, and designs, and his Family. Bray Wyatt was coming to wreak havoc on the main roster, and he didn't rightly think there was anyone there that could stop him. The first time they appeared, they had destroyed the Big Red Machine, the devil's favorite demon, the monster, Kane. Now there was a new monster in town.

_We're coming._

He would recite it to himself. Saying things out loud had a power to them. It made them more real.

_Nothing will be the same_.

The next time they appeared, their target had been R-Truth—a misnomer, for his mind was filled with nothing but lies, and told only lies to the universe, who would eat it all up willingly.

Bray Wyatt had certain powers over people—he himself didn't fully understand them. He had tamed the wild, unruly Luke Harper, as well as Erick Rowan, turned them into his pitbulls. They had been unwilling at first, but they were part of his Family now.

_We're coming._

_We will level this place._

Their next targets, and the ones after that—there was barely a discernible reason as to why it was them. They were just unlucky. It was just another lesson, another demonstration, of Bray's power, of exactly what he was capable of, of exactly why the universe should fear him so much. He would break the universe. He would bring it to its knees before he was halfway through.

He just needed more people to notice.

The Great Khali was a big lamb, for sure. He was a tall tree that needed to be chopped down. But he had the tools for the job. Monday night, the three of them walked silently until they were right behind them—they were so busy, didn't even notice until they were upon them. Luke took Khali out at the knee; Erick attacked at the head. It was all over in, what, seconds?

The dwarf stood there shaking. He looked like he was about to bolt at any moment. The poor girl, Natalya—well she was kind of used to this happening to her oversized boyfriend, wasn't she? The Shield had done it, ostensibly because of Dean Ambrose's inexplicable quest to apprehend the diva, Georgia. He hadn't even taken a second look at Natalya. But Bray did now, as she stood there, quaking in her Hart Family boots. He got right up to her, chest pressed up against her left arm. She kept looking straight ahead, didn't deign to turn to him—she couldn't even look him in the eye. Petrified, weak woman.

"You're not what I'm looking for," he said, in a sing-song voice, happily, because he'd narrowed his search by one.

They left Khali on the floor, reeling—the dwarf, Hornswaggle, consoling Natalya. The crowd sat stunned, as they always did after the Wyatts had shown up. After that, there was a different energy in the arena—a cautious one. There was an edge to every silence, because the Wyatts could strike at any moment. And no one knew quite when or why they would.

Georgia couldn't be bothered to think about the Wyatts at this particular point in time—they were the furthest thing from her mind these last few weeks. She'd barely even noticed when they'd arrived. It was the Monday Night Raw following the Pay Per View. She'd just flown in from another city. She was at the arena with the Shield, and she'd been told that she ought not use the divas' dressing room tonight, on advice from Kaitlyn, with whom she had a tenuous and tension-filled relationship, that AJ was crazed due to the events of the previous night. She'd been able to accept the fact that she'd lost the title because of outside interference, but to lose again in a fair fight with the new champion? It was unthinkable, and so she wasn't thinking. She'd already thrown the Bellas' bags across the room. If Georgia appeared… Kaitlyn didn't quite know what would go down.

So Georgia got changed in the same little locker room as the Shield, far and away on the other side of the arena. She dressed up in black skinny jeans and a silky black tank top, skin-tight—she wasn't required to wrestle, and AJ had exhausted her rematch. But there'd be a new contender for the divas title eventually, and she'd be out at ringside so as to begin determining who that was.

"I'm going out for the divas match," she announced to Dean, Seth and Roman, who were each pouring a bottle of water over their heads in preparation for whatever they were planning to do tonight. Georgia didn't ask about that. Not only was it not her business—it was inconsequential, as far as she was concerned. She might have an alliance with the Shield by way of her relationship with Dean, but their business was their business, and hers was hers. If and when they intersected, then there'd be something to discuss, but for now… She had somewhere she belonged, and that was good enough for her.

As Georgia's music hit, booes echoed through the arena. Georgia smiled sweetly, rolling her eyes as she came down the ramp. She took her place at ringside, in a specially provided seat beside the announce table. The men behind it stood up as she approached and sat down with them.

"What a pleasure to have our own Divas Champ out at ringside!" JBL said, half into the camera, half directed towards her.

"Fresh off not one, but _two _victories last night, you'd have to agree," Cole added.

"Sure, Cole, whatever you say," said Georgia.

"A lot of people are wondering, Georgia, why you double-crossed Sami Zayn at last night's Pay Per View. Do you have anything to say about that?" Cole prodded.

"Uh, no, not really."

"But surely there's a reason behind—"

"Yeah, there are reasons," Georgia intersected. "Lots of reasons. None of which I really care to share with you, or any of these people. It's my business… and Dean Ambrose's." She smirked as she said his name.

"You better leave her alone on that one, Michael, she's got the Shield behind her now," Lawler contributed.

Georgia leaned forward and looked down the line of commentators to Jerry Lawler. "You think I wouldn't reach across JBL right now and claw his eyes out myself? Now are we out here to call a match or what?"

The shimmery, irritating dance pop of the Bellas' music rang out a moment later.

"Oh good, my favorites," Georgia said, eyes narrowing as the Bellas strutted their way down to the ring.

"You've had your problems with the Bellas in the past," Cole said.

"Yeah," Georgia said, leaning back. "Somehow I don't think they'll be messing with me from now on."

The Bellas in the ring, one dressed for competition, the other for a night out on the town, didn't even turn to acknowledge the champion's presence. They were followed to the ring by Aksana—a strange match-up, but that was the new management style. Brad Maddox had just taken over, after all.

It was shaping up to be a deflating match. Georgia could barely keep her attention focused on the in-ring action. She kept floating back to Dean backstage, and to her new stablemates. As Nikki got the pin over Aksana, Georgia was started back to reality by the ringing of the bell.

"Hmm—what, is it over?" Georgia said. "Oh, good."

She got to her feet and picked her title up off the announcers' desk. She found herself itching to get back to the Shield, into the arms of her lover.

That was when the music hit—the striking static that used to chill her to the core, now sent jolts of excitement through her. She looked up high, to the top of the stairs—all three of them were there, making their way down. She waited on the outside as they reached the ground level and hopped over the barrier.

"Hey," she said to Dean as he hopped over. "Match?"

He nodded in the direction of Rollins and Reigns. "Theirs. Thought I'd come down and collect you myself."

"Couldn't wait til I got back to get your hands on me, eh?" she said, too low for any microphones to pick up. He bent down, chin coming to rest on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. They watched together as Seth and Roman roared to the crowd, displaying their titles proudly.

"You don't know the half of it."

* * *

**A/N: POOR NATALYA... She doesn't have a good time, does she? Hope you didn't mind the POV switch. Didn't really make sense to have Georgia narrating something she doesn't know anything about.**


	4. I'll Be Yours

_I'll be your liqour bathing your soul  
Juice that's pure  
And I'll be your anchor you'll never leave  
Shores that cure_

* * *

Another day, another airport check-in. After a point, you get pretty good at navigating these, streamlining your way through airport security, briefly stopping for the photograph with the fan or the autograph. That stuff's all fine—I like it even, meeting the fans that stick with you even after the majority of the base has turned their backs on you. Sometimes I reward them by being extra sweet.

Now, it's if you can avoid eye contact with the leery security guys who do the completely-totally-random-of-course-I-don't-just-p ick-the-hot-chicks extra screenings that shows the mark of a true pro. I'm getting there. Today a large man, maybe 35 or 40, almost busting out of his TSA issued button-down, nabbed me and asked me if I would comply with a bomb powder test. As Dean, Seth and Roman passed through uninhibited, I stood there while Mr TSA wheezed and collected random spot samples from my hands and jacket. I caught Dean's eye and he was laughing, the son of a bitch. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Okay, thank you," the guy said finally. Clearly I had passed the test. I collected my stuff and walked back over to them.

"Have fun with your little friend?" Dean teased.

"_He _certainly did," I said. As I deliberately elbowed past him, making toward the gate, he smacked me on the ass. I turned and smirked at him. "Getting a little possessive there, Ambrose?"

He turned and glanced back at the wheezy TSA guy. "Doin' him a favor actually. That should be enough to get him off for a week."

"You're a sicko," I shot back, laughing. "Where's the damn gate?"

"This way," Roman said, pointing diagonally away from security.

So anyway, my point is: airports are fairly easy. However, I do get nervous on planes. Not because I think they'll crash—I'm well aware of the statistics there, thank you. I just don't like the noises they make, and the trapped in a giant metal tube feeling, breathing everybody else's carbon dioxide.

Music helps with that. But planes, as we all know, are weird about you keeping your electronic music device on during take-off and landing, like it's still 19-fucking-60 or my iPhone somehow has enough juice to knock GPS for a loop…. even when it's on flight mode.

But I have this trick, you see—it's called being in possession of relatively long, thick hair. If the stewardess can't see your cords coming out of your ears, they've got no grounds to tell you to turn shit off. The strategy works best in window seats, but Roman already bagged that back at check-in. My booking was separate to theirs, so I ended up with the aisle seat across from the three of them.

My immediate neighbour was some random business-woman. Now, Seth prefers the aisle seat, too, apparently, so that leaves Dean with the middle. I laughed as the three of them jostled for arm-rest real estate, and once everyone was seated and strapped in, I flicked open my music and put on Queens of the Stone Age's _Rated R_ album.

The seatbelt light flashed on a moment later and announcements I couldn't hear but got the general gist of resonated through the cabin. I was blissfully listening to Josh Homme chant "Nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana…"

I arranged my hair in front of my shoulders, burying all traces of my white Apple cords, tucking the player well away in a large side pocket on my hoodie. The flight attendant was checking every row now, maybe about 5 rows down from us, give or take. I looked over to check on the boys again, to see if they were still fighting. That would be good in-flight entertainment. As I turned my head, one side of my cords became visible and I quickly rearranged my hair to cover it. Seth, my nearest neighbor, noticed, and gave me a look—a raised eyebrow. I smiled at him, because it was pretty much the first time he'd acknowledged me all day, and raised my index finger to my lips and winked.

_Shhh…_

I knew he wouldn't tattle on me. Who does that? But what he did next I regarded a small triumph. He shook his head, looking back away, straight at the back of the seat in front of him, and let out a little laugh. He tried and failed to keep a small smirk from appearing on his face. Aha. I made Seth Rollins smile. Just a little. That was victory enough.

* * *

I was excited to get into the new city—Kansas City—not because K-City is a particularly awesome place to be, but because we didn't have a show that night. We had the night off. And apparently for Dean that means one thing: drinking.

"Where are we going tonight?" I said, pulling my suitcase along behind me as we made our way from the car to the hotel lobby. Dean shrugged.

"Anywhere that serves alcohol."

That turned out to be the bar within the shortest walking distance from the hotel. Roman, Seth, Dean and I trudged down there like good little foot soldiers. When we got inside I could see there were already several other WWE employees who had had the same idea. Sheamus was pounding his fist on the bar. Curtis Axel was chatting to Fandango. I steered mostly clear of Fandango—we had history, after all.

In the corner I could see Sami Zayn and—well, if it wasn't our friendly neighborhood backstage interviewer Renee Young. They were close—incredibly close together. I smiled mutedly to myself. I didn't hate Sami—there was no reason to. I was the bad guy, let's be clear here. But I didn't want him to be, y'know, miserable… We didn't work out, but at least he could be happy some other way.

We got a booth, and Dean came back with four bottles of open beer, necks weaved into his fingers.

"Hope you like… Busch. It's all they had," he directed at me, sitting down.

"One thing you need to learn about me, Ambrose, is I will drink whatever I'm given," I said, taking a long first sip. I glanced at him over the top of the bottle and saw his dirty little smirk. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Sleazy fuck.

"Don't call me Ambrose, Rush," he said. I winked at him while taking another sip. I got some sick pleasure out of annoying him—must have been some kind of residue left over from when I actively hated his guts.

Beer bottles began to collect on our table, one after the other. I was keeping up with the Shield, but only just. 70 pounds difference in body mass becomes fairly critical after a point. Every time someone came back with another round, I was silently begging for someone to call it quits, to say "last one for me" or something to that effect.

"You know the thing about you, Rollins," I was saying, digging a finger into his toned, muscular bicep, "Is you never talk to me. You'd really like me if you gave me a chance."

Seth laughed once, a single exhaling of breath, and took another swig from his bottle. I turned to Dean.

"He won't talk to me," I pouted.

"I know, honey," he said, head tilted as he looked at me. "He's a dick, don't worry."

"Hey," Seth said, then added, "You're a dick."

"Fuck you," Dean shot back.

"Fuck all of you," Roman interjected. That shut us up pretty quick. Roman rarely said a negative word… to us at least. In the short time I'd been around these three, I'd learnt pretty quickly that Roman was the glue that held it all together. His in-ring work was intense, but outside of that he was a very serene guy. Without him, Ambrose and Rollins would have collided and fallen out long ago. He paused for a moment as we all stared at him, before adding, "I fucking love you guys."

"Naww," I said, reaching across the table and punching him softly on the bicep. As I pulled back I knocked an empty beer bottle down. It clinked loudly against the table and then rolled into a small collection of other bottles. I burst out laughing as Dean quickly set about putting them back upright, as if it mattered. I mean, okay, maybe we shouldn't have random empty beer bottles rolling around the table.

"You are so fucking drunk, Rush," Dean said as I fell against him, suddenly realizing how comfortable his left bicep was.

"Fuck you," I said sleepily.

"I think she might be done, you guys," Dean said, putting his arm around me. It was even more comfortable than before. My eyes drifted shut.

"Yeah… you can take her back if you want," Roman said. "We'll chill for a while longer."

Dean nodded and shook me lightly. "C'mon, Rush, let's go to bed."

"Fuck you, don't call me Rush," I mumbled, still instinctively fighting him, even though it didn't matter.

"If I don't come back… yeah," Dean said as he pulled me to my feet. Once I got my footing I felt okay, much less sleepy.

He took me out into the night air, crisp and cool. I sobered up considerably on the short walk back to the hotel.

"How come Seth still doesn't like me?" I asked.

"What do you care about him for anyway?" Dean replied. "I like you."

"Yeah you do."

We took the elevator up and crashed through the door to our room. I immediately made a beeline for the bathroom, going to the sink and taking one of the provided glasses for a big, long drink of water.

"Water is so good, y'know?" I said as Dean came in to join me in the bathroom. He moved behind me to take the other glass and got a drink for himself, downing it all in three or four big gulps. I put my glass down and went to go back into the main portion of the room, thinking that collapsing on the bed would be a good idea right about now. I was halfway there when I got caught by Dean's hand—he was still surprisingly quick and coordinated for someone who'd had just as many beers as I had.

"Did you forget our little arrangement?" he said, quickly pressing me to the door, wide open against the wall.

"What?" I said, starting to feel the electricity of our proximity. The last thing I needed now was to be channelling Stone Cold Steve Austin. Dean slinked his hand up my upper body, coming to rest at the neckline of my t-shirt. He gripped it tightly—I was extremely confused—and then he yanked it down, the loud tearing noise of fabric echoing into the bathroom. I looked down. He'd completely torn my shirt open at the front, exposing my bra and stomach.

"You asshole! I liked that shirt."

"Well, shit, sorry, but you were taking too long."

Now I remembered.

_When we're alone you should just… not wear clothes._

Something along those lines. I wriggled the rest of the way out of my ruined t-shirt and held it up in front of me. There was no saving it, so I stepped out of the bathroom and tossed it in a trashcan near the bed, then turned back to Dean with my hands on my hips.

"Do I get to rip something of yours now?"

Dean shook his head and made for me again, reaching behind my back to unhook my bra and somehow also managing to unbuckle my belt one-handedly. His face was steely concentration—I was undressed in seconds flat.

"Happy now?" I smirked.

"Very," he said. I felt goosebumps rise up on my skin—was it cold in here? Or was it just standing face to face with Dean, completely naked, and the way he was looking at me… He backed up from me—I tilted my head—and he went to lie on the bed. He gestured me over and I gingerly approached.

"So I'm naked but you're not?"

"Yup."

"What happened to the arrangement?"

"What arrangement?"

He grinned as I scowled at him, but nevertheless I crawled onto the bed beside him, and in one movement he tugged my arm and pulled me over, on top of him. With my legs spread apart, straddling his hips, I was feeling very vulnerable, very exposed, and fuck if that didn't turn both of us on.

I studied his face as he growled approvingly, looking down the length of his body at me, and I hissed sharply when I felt his finger lightly slide through my folds. As he moved his finger around in one slow circle, exactly where it counted, I shuddered, mouth open, flicking my head back. I rocked my hips into his hand; every minuscule touch felt like fire. Alcohol had loosened my tongue considerably—I couldn't even control the tiny pathetic begging noises that were coming out of me.

"You're gonna come right on top of me, aren't you?" he said, spurring me on. "All over my fuckin' hand and my shirt."

I whimpered pathetically, half-nodding. I leant back slightly, placing both my hands on his thighs behind me, baring myself to him more, pressing forward and down on his fingers.

"Good girl," he purred. "Fuck you're sexy… Best damn thing…"

I couldn't breathe—there was no air in the room. All of my lifeforce was coming directly from his touch.

"Shit—oh shit, don't stop," I moaned as I climbed to yet another level—so close to the peak. Dean chuckled and pulled his hand away and I growled in frustration. I snapped my head back to look at him.

"Let me come," I said angrily.

"So fuckin' pushy," he said, reaching between my legs to his own pants. He unzipped them and let free his cock, already hard and aching and ready. "See how hard you get me without even fuckin' touching me?"

He pressed his tip at my entrance and I gasped, nearly sinking down on it immediately. I bit my lip and held myself steady. He'd already teased me enough tonight, proved to both him and to me how much I wanted him, how I _needed _him. This fucking competition…

"Nothing to say?" he probed. "Not gonna beg for me?"

"Fuck you." My voice was weak, practically powerless.

"I don't think that counts, sweetcheeks." He guided himself past my entrance and lifted his hips up to rub the underside of his cock against my clit. I bucked against him—I was still on edge from when he'd stopped me on the verge of coming. He chuckled darkly again and kept me on the brink as I grinded myself against his cock, aching for more friction. I leant forward and put my hands on his chest, fisting them into his t-shirt. I was climbing again, biting my own lip harder than I should have, but I couldn't feel the pain.

"I can't decide if I want you to come now or while I'm inside you," he mused, but as I ground against him more I could start to see desire breaking through his cool façade. I kept going—if only I could make him break first, make him be the one to say 'I can't take it anymore', to thrust inside of me.

"Fuck, your cock feels so good," I moaned, untangling one hand from his shirt and pressing it to the topside of his cock, holding him against me, deliciously sandwiched. "I want you, Dean. I want you all the time. I wanted you in the airport. In the bar. I can't fucking _think_ when you're around. Everyone knows…"

I moved my hips faster, harder against him. I glanced up at his face. His eyes were open, watching me intently, mouth ajar. There were beads of sweat now on his forehead. I flicked my thumb over his head, sweeping precum down his shaft, and he groaned, lifting his hips up to meet me.

"Yes, good girl," he hissed. "Fuck—come for me." He was grinding just as much as I was now. My whole body started to shudder and all my muscles tensed.

"Oh—fuck," I choked out. I rode him against me, desperately grasping for a higher and higher peak.

Dean knocked my hand away from his length while I was still mid-climax, riding the cresting waves, one after the other, eyes screwed shut. He guided himself back to my entrance and slammed me down on top of him, groaning as he did. My climax intensified a hundred-fold, enabling me to reach an even higher apex—I was above the clouds, completely dizzy, not sure if I was seeing shining white or deepest black.

"Fuuuuck," Dean was growling, what seemed like miles below me. I was tensing and clenching and grinding and practically fucking dripping all over his dick. "Fuck, I can't—"

He came, shooting inside of me, perfect O formed on his lips—god, but he'd only been in there, what, all of 15 seconds? It didn't matter. I had no concept of time or space. I slumped forward onto his chest as he rode himself out, unable to support myself any longer. My muscles had all expended themselves. I was trying to get my breath back.

"Shit," I breathed into the black cotton of his shirt. "I can't believe you're still dressed."

"I think the phrase you're looking for is, 'That was amazing, Dean, you are a sex god'."

I laughed and rolled off him. "Do sex gods normally only last 15 seconds?" I teased, prodding him in the side.

"Whoa, hey, you were already coming, which didn't help," he said.

"Mmm, true."

"Anyway, you should be careful about challenging me to an endurance contest," he said, leaning up on his elbows and rolling over, hovering his face above mine. "You won't walk for a week."

"Ooh," I said, smiling slyly. "Consider yourself challenged."

He kissed me on the head and rolled back onto his back. "Later. Tired."

"Same."

I managed to pull myself up to go to the bathroom quickly. When I got back, Dean had finally taken off his shirt, and his jeans, just lying there on top of the covers in his boxers. I switched the main room light off and climbed over him to my side of the bed, digging under the covers, craving warmth in the cool room, but the sheets were cold, too. I shivered slightly. Dean flipped his side of the covers and inched towards me, pulling me tightly into his arms. They were so big they seemed to envelope me completely, and soon I was warm, and sleepy. So sleepy.


	5. Voodoo People

The Shield were already out of the hotel lobby, putting bags in the trunk. Dean was sitting in the backseat, Roman passenger. Seth was practically hanging out of the drivers side window, because Georgia wasn't here yet. The fucking new girl. She was with them in the hotel lobby, and then this little girl came up, like 7 or 8 years old at the most. Seth had sneered at her and she'd looked like a frightened little lamb. He wasn't in the mood for signing autographs or pretending to be nice to kids today. The little girl had gone up to Georgia instead, and she had stopped to talk to her. Of course she stopped. She wasn't really cut out for the Shield mentality, after all.

Inside the hotel lobby, Georgia was getting down on bent knee to take a photo with the girl. She took her title off her shoulder and handed it to her.

"Here, hold this," she said. The girl looked up at her like it was Christmas. After the photo, the girl gave the title back.

"What do you say?" said the girl's mother.

"Thank you, Georgia," she squeaked out. "You're my favorite."

"Aw, thank you so much!" She extended her arms and pulled the little girl into a hug. "Thanks for coming to the show last night. I've gotta go, okay? See you round."

She gave the girl one last smile and the mother waved as she headed out of the hotel lobby after her travel companions. The little girl had put a smile on her face, but it soon disappeared as she saw Seth waiting for her, glaring at her. She'd held them up by a couple of minutes at the most, but it was enough—just another little annoying thing she had done. It was always one step forward, three and a half steps back with Seth. She didn't understand. She considered herself friends with Roman now, and Georgia had never had trouble getting people to like her before. He was so serious _all _the time.

She smiled at Dean as she slipped into the backseat. The car revved to life as Seth put the car into gear and practically lurched away from the park, foot heavy on the accelerator. It was a deliberate gesture, Georgia knew. _I have to rush because YOU made us wait…_

"You're such a sucker for the kiddie fans," Dean teased, shaking his head at her.

"Shut up, they're cute."

"We're gonna have less time for CrossFit now," Seth said, hands gripping the steering wheel tight.

"Like three minutes less," Georgia challenged.

"Whatever."

Georgia rolled her eyes, knowing full well that she was visible to Seth in the rearview mirror. He was watching her reflection, glance lingering, somewhat aware that he had overreacted. He had this urge to continue to be rude to Georgia. He didn't know why. Or did he? He quickly snapped his eyes back to the road.

* * *

It occurred to Bray Wyatt, as he sat like a king, rocking back and forth in his chair in the darkened hallway, that perhaps the only people who weren't afraid of his Family were the Shield. The Shield were the only combination of individuals that could likely challenge the Wyatt Family with any degree of success, most likely because they thought themselves something like wolves themselves. They were a well-oiled machine, much like hisself and his Family. People thought Bray Wyatt was crazy, and well, maybe he was, just a little, but he wasn't reckless. So far, the Family hadn't messed with the Shield, and the Shield hadn't messed with the Wyatt Family.

But 'crazy' people, you know, they never rule anything out completely. And one of the Shield guys—Ambrose—well he had sweet Georgia wrapped around his finger now. Or maybe it was the other way round. It was hard to tell by looking, when they were always so wrapped up in each other. He was _so _protective of her. And that—well, that was where all the fun started. Because Bray wasn't even interested in the girl—he was interested in her opponent,

Kaitlyn.

She had the kind of broken psyche that Bray was interested in moulding. She was vulnerable and exposed, a raw nerve. That was the best kind of clay.

The Divas Champion, Georgia, had a match against Kaitlyn on Smackdown. She was trying for the title again, and Maddox had given her the opportunity. They were about halfway through, wearing each other down. It was a physical sort of match. Kaitlyn had the brute strength, but Georgia had a technical ability that Kaitlyn couldn't follow. Georgia would get Kaitlyn into holds that Kaitlyn, as strong as she was, couldn't find her way out of.

As Kaitlyn ran at Georgia, Georgia ducked underneath her, and as she came back Georgia delivered a spinning back kick, sending Kaitlyn to the mat. Georgia got back to her feet and stood above her, picking Kaitlyn up by the boots. Folding her legs over one another, she twisted and locked her into the sharpshooter, right in the centre of the ring.

_Now._

_We're coming._

The pulsing, psychadelic bass wavered through the speakers and the crowd turned, along with Georgia, to the top of the ramp. Georgia dropped Kaitlyn out of the sharpshooter as the whole arena went dark, and a single lamp light appeared from out of the curtains. As it became clear that the lights were not coming back on anytime soon, the referee quickly felt his way to the timekeeper and ruled the match a no-contest.

Georgia dropped to her knees and felt for her opponent.

"Kaitlyn," she whispered. "This is trouble, we've got to go."

She found Kaitlyn's wrist but she snatched it away. It was fair enough, Georgia reasoned—I wouldn't trust me either.

The lights went up, and all three men were in the ring. Georgia was crouched low in the corner, but Kaitlyn was kneeling, right in front of Bray, in the center of the ring. He was holding his hand out to her, muttering something, manic glee written all over his face. Kaitlyn's eyes were wide open, looking up at him, but her shoulders were slumped. It was the most unnatural thing Georgia thought she had ever seen.

Georgia had no time to think, no time to react. Her only interest was in getting away from these men, these _dangerous_ men, but she couldn't leave Kaitlyn at the hands of these men, that no one knew anything about. She was one of the 'bad guys' now, but she wasn't a monster. There was a distinct line, and here Georgia knew where it was drawn.

She looped her forearms under Kaitlyn's slumped shoulders and pulled her back—drawing on a reserve of almost superhuman strength—out of the ring and to the outside. Once Kaitlyn had broken eye contact with Bray Wyatt, she seemed to regain her senses. She started as she saw Georgia next to her, eyes filled with fear and confusion, then up at the Wyatts.

"Shit," she breathed.

"C'mon, we gotta go," Georgia said, tugging Kaitlyn by the arm, pointing to the barricade.

The two women hopped the barrier and waded deep through the crowd as Bray Wyatt stood in the centre of the ring, same serene expression on his face. Georgia, the firecracker Divas Champion, had stolen his object from him. But that was fine. Oh, yes, that was even better. Because pre-damaged things are fine to rebuild, but it's so much more fun to break something that isn't broken. It's actually kind of easier to spot the difference that way.

Georgia wasn't broken, so far as Bray Wyatt could see. But she would be. He'd have so much fun breaking her.

* * *

The Shield was waiting to meet Georgia as she reached the recesses of the arena, Kaitlyn's arm draped over her shoulders. The crowd had parted for her, almost silently, and when she passed them they closed back up again. Panic was written on her face, pale as a ghost, but as she glimpsed the black utility vests, some small semblance of relief washed over her.

"Whoa, what the fuck happened," Dean said, glancing at Kaitlyn, who was looking shell-shocked and pretty out of it, quite frankly.

"I don't fucking know," Georgia said as Roman moved to Kaitlyn's side to help support her. "I should get her somewhere safe though. The trainers maybe."

"I'll take her," Roman offered.

"Yeah, you stay here," Dean said. He moved to encapsulate Georgia in his arms, a possessive, protective gesture. Seth paced back and forth, eyebrows furrowed, dark eyes full of fire.

"You know what you've done now?" he said, pointing at Georgia. "You attracted their attention. They'll come for us now. You know they will."

"Well, shit, Rollins, what was I supposed to do? Leave her there?" Georgia snapped, her nerves at a raw end.

"Hey, c'mon, man," Dean directed at Seth, running his hands down the sides of Georgia's arms. There were goosebumps all over them, even though she'd just been in an intense wrestling match. "The fuck would you have done?"

"What was best for the team," he said automatically, confidently.

"You better get me out of here before I fucking launch myself at him," Georgia said, turning to Dean, just loud enough for Rollins to hear.

"Go find Roman," Dean said, looking up at Seth, his voice full of authority.

"Alone?" Seth asked.

"Yeah, alone, dipshit. The Wyatts aren't gonna come for you if that's what you're scared of."

"Fine, whatever," he said, and promptly stalked off in the direction of the trainers room.

"I should go get my belt," Georgia said. "I left it…"

"Someone will get it back to you," Dean said. "I hate to say it, but Seth might be right about the fact that you've got their attention."

"I don't want that…"

"Yeah, I know… You just have a way about you, don't you, sweetheart?" He looked deep into her eyes, and Georgia managed a little, wavering laugh.

"Anyway," Dean said, pulling her into his side as they started to walk down the corridor. The steadiness of Dean's touch alerted her to the fact that she was actually shaking. "You don't have to be afraid. You've got three of the baddest guys in the business watching your ass. And I'm watching it extra close."

"I could probably count on two of you…"

"Seth doesn't like to admit it, but he'd have your back, too, if it came to it. I don't know why he's being so difficult but he'll get the fuck over it."

Georgia sighed. "I know… and I know I shouldn't be afraid of him like this, but I am. You weren't out there—you didn't see—he's crazy, Dean. I can deal with crazy, like the paranoid, screaming for no reason kinda crazy. But he's _confident_. He doesn't fight it, he embraces it. He's comfortable in it." Georgia paused and thought for a moment. "Up close, it's terrifying."


	6. We're In This Together

I was glued to the monitor backstage, flanked by Dean and Roman, Seth standing in front of the three of us, as Bray Wyatt entered the ring the Monday night after the incident on Smackdown. What did he have to say? Would he even mention me? Had he even noticed I was there?

His boys, Harper and Rowan, had already taken out the current occupant of the ring—poor Sin Cara. They disposed of him, rolling him away from Bray as he took centerstage with the microphone in hand.

"_For weeks now, I've been searchin',_" he began in his Lafayette drawl. "_I've been searchin' for somethin' in particular, somethin' special, cuz my boys and me, yeah, yeah, we're a family, but a family… a family needs a matriarch. The head of the family needs a bride, a dutiful lady… And I know who I want now. I have decided. Georgia Rush—_"

My blood ran cold. I felt Dean's grip around my arms tighten and looked up at him with wide, determined eyes. Seth was flailing his arms up and down while Roman tensed his muscles, grinding his fist into his palm.

"I knew it—I knew this was going to happen!" Seth yelled.

"Let's go out there," I said to Dean, tensing my jaw. We were probably on the titantron right now—Bray Wyatt could see us, the whole universe could see us.

"No," Dean said firmly. "Who does he think he's talking to? We're not gonna give him the satisfaction."

"_Georgia,_" he sang. "_We see you. You think you're strong, you think you're independent, but you're not. No, no, you're weak—weak of mind. You latch on and you follow the strongest man, try'na find the alpha male, and you think you found him, but no—_" He let out a long, belly-deep laugh. The audience was sitting in stunned silence. "I_ am the true wolf among the sheep. I am the king amongst men. And you—you will be my bride. You think you know the truth, but you don't. You're already mine, child. You are _already_ mine._"

I couldn't do it myself, so Dean pulled me away from the monitors, Seth and Roman following after us. In retrospect, it was probably the right move. You don't mess with explosive material. You keep your distance.

The rest of the night I stuck close to Dean's side, and while he was out having his match, with Seth and Roman backstage. When Dean got back, the other two went out for their match. I felt a little bit like I was being babysat, but given the circumstances, that was alright. The divas match between Kaitlyn and Brie Bella went on in the ring, but I stayed back, watching on a monitor. There'd be more matches. Next week. Next week I'd be out.

* * *

The next morning we had some driving to do and a show to get to, via car, as we had been doing for the last four days. Sometimes the WWE schedule gets a little busy and a lot crazy when it comes to travel arrangements. All three of the boys had done a considerable amount of driving over the last few days, so today I volunteered to drive for once. I got no argument from anyone—they were all tired from their matches the night before. Roman in particular had taken a bit of a nasty fall to the outside.

I got into the drivers seat and adjusted the seat and steering wheel before anything else, then moved to attach my iPhone to the car speakers.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Seth said, poking his head forward from behind me in the backseat.

"Driver gets to pick the music, everyone knows those are the rules," I replied. "Fucking deal with it Seth."

Seth groaned and sat back in his seat. I rolled my eyes at Dean and scrolled through my list quickly to my driving mix. It's good shit, okay? I hit shuffle and Porcupine Tree's _Blackest Eyes_ started up, the clean guitar droning through for about 20 seconds before the main riff hit, dirty and off-beat, volume louder than I expected at first. I turned it down a few notches.

"What?" Seth said, jolting forward.

"What?" I said.

"I thought you were gonna put Beyonce on or some shit."

"Yeah, no."

"What's this?"

"Porcupine Tree."

"American?"

"British."

"What else is on here?"

"Not fucking Beyonce." I glanced at him in the rearview as we pulled out of the hotel parking lot and watched a small smirk spread across his face.

"Alright then."

I gave Dean a sideways look and found him chuckling to himself. He'd already found out all about my musical tastes during a particularly long evening in a nothing-to-do kinda town last week. We'd argued about whether Metallica was better than Pearl Jam. We hadn't reached a consensus.

I wrestled the show that night, with Dean out at ringside—he wouldn't let me go alone. It was the first time, I realized, that he had been out for a match of mine. He was kind of vocal, which I expected, but in an encouraging sort of way. I finished off Alicia Fox with my specialty bridging German, the Lions Gate, and rolled out to celebrate my victory. Dean snuck up behind me as the referee held up my arm, lifting me up by the thighs and hoisting me to a sitting position on his shoulder. I held up my title belt for the crowd to see, spread my arms out wide and sarcastically bowed as they booed us in the centre of the ring. Would they be booing me for long, I wondered, now we had come into conflict with the Wyatts? Fickle idiots—they'd probably start cheering the moment the Shield ran in and beat the shit out of them. Til that happens—whatever, I guess I'll get booed.

* * *

Later that night in the hotel room, I was sitting on the bed, packing my stuff up for the trip the next morning, setting out the clothes I wanted for tomorrow on the floor. I guess you could say I was stressed—in desperate need of a little relaxation. Dean was in the bathroom, shaving. He came out as I tossed my bag in the corner and put my clothes on a chair in the corner. He was shirtless, in sweatpants, riding low on his hips. At the sight of him I could actually _feel _the endorphins run through my body. I mean, what the fuck? How does that even happen to a person?

"All smooth again?" I said, jumping over onto the bed, standing up on my knees as he stood in front of the bed. I put my hands up to his cheeks and ran my hands down the sides of his face. He put his hands on my hips as my hands continued down the sides of his neck and I dragged my fingers through his fine layer of chest hair.

"Yeah, didn't shave that, sorry," he said as I spread my hands out and over his pecs.

"That's fine," I said, moving my hands back up and over his shoulders. "I like your chest hair. I find it extremely sexy."

"Yeah?" he said, pulling me in tighter. "What else do you like?"

"How much time have you got?" I returned.

He pursed his lips. "Good answer."

After that, things started to get a little hot and heavy, Dean pushing me back onto the bed, climbing in between my legs, pulling my top over my head. As we discarded the last of our clothing into a messy pile on the floor beside the bed I sat up, wrapping my legs around him.

"I have an idea for a game," I said abruptly.

"A game?" he repeated, eyebrow raised.

"You'll like it, I promise."

"Can't I just fuck you?" He bent down and ravaged my chest with bites and kisses. I pushed up into him, running my fingers through his still damp hair.

"You remember when you said not to challenge you to an endurance contest? Well, consider yourself challenged," I said, albeit with some difficulty. "Come first and you lose. Hands only."

Dean pulled back, grin appearing on his face. "Oh… oh you're fucking brilliant. Genius even. But if we try this you _are_ going to lose."

"Oh really?" I said, returning his grin. I knew this game would appeal to both of our competitive natures. "In my experience, it's a _lot _easier to make a guy come."

"You've been with the wrong guys, then, sweetheart." He dragged his hand down to the crease of my thigh, tracing around my most sensitive area.

"Is that right?" I hissed.

"Yeah," he said, biting at my neck again. "That's right."

"You wanna put your money where your mouth is, then?" I said, reaching down, grasping at his already hardened cock and pumping slowly. He ground up into me and responded by putting his hand between my legs. I gasped and squeezed him harder.

We slowly worked into a rhythm, sitting in Dean's lap in the centre of the bed, teasing each other and trying to work the other up as best we could. I was confident, hearing his throaty growls—there was no way he was going to last, especially if I increased my speed. I made for his neck, biting at the point where it met his shoulder, and was rewarded with a louder growl. I locked my jaw, suctioning my lips over his skin, and sucked hard, hoping desperately to leave a nice deep red and purple mark. As I sucked harder his growls became more like these throaty gurgling noises.

"Fuckin' bitch," he choked out. "You're gonna leave a mark."

"No shit," I muttered before going back to the same spot. It was already getting pink, little spots of red beginning to show up, blood vessels bursting just underneath the surface of his skin.

As I worked up to another level, jacking him off quickly and roughly, he reached his free hand up and yanked on my hair, pulling me off of his neck, tilting my head right back. The slight pain sent a sick thrill through me, a pulsing sensation going through my belly. All of a sudden I had caught up to his level and now I was moaning, too, pushing into his hand.

"Aw, there you go," he hissed into my throat. "Good little girl—fuck, you like the pain, don't you? Who'd have thought? You're a slut for it, aren't you?"

He moved his head down and took my nipple in his mouth, biting down sharply and I moaned again, trying to keep my own rhythm going. We were both desperate now—I tried to suppress the waves of pleasure as they came, but they were undeniable past a point.

"Mmm, you really thought you were gonna win, didn't you?" he drawled. His hands were working magic below us, pressing and flicking everywhere I fucking needed him to. "You never stood a chance, baby, not against me—I know how you like it. You like it rough and you like it when I do _this_—" At that he slipped a finger inside of me and I cried out. "But mostly you just like it—nah, fuck, you _need_ it to be me that does this to you. Am I right? Hmm?"

I was trying desperately, pumping furiously at his cock, needing him to come up to my level, to catch up and overtake, because I was on the edge. I was desperately holding myself in. All my seams were coming apart.

"Hmm?" he repeated, thrusting another finger inside of me.

"Yes!" I cried, panting hard. "No one else… ever… felt like this…"

"Fuckin' right."

The more I tried to hold it in, the more I could feel building up behind me—this was no ordinary orgasm.

"Shit—no, no, no," I gasped, "No—fuck!"

A violet haze swept over me, taking me entirely by surprise. I was shaking, whole body convulsing.

"Jesus," Dean whispered. I continued to hold onto him tightly, moaning and rocking myself against his hand, finally remembering that his cock was still in mine, rock hard and leaking all over the place.

"C'mon, baby," I said, pumping him furiously. "Your turn."

He growled and lifted me up off of his lap and dropped me to the bed.

"You lost," he said, leaning over me.

"Fuck you, I know."

"Can I claim my prize now?"

"Fucking stop gloating and do it, Ambrose."

He grinned and thrust into me in one movement, making my eyes roll back. Now he was in charge of setting his own pace, he went slower, just grinding his way up inside me, one slow hard thrust after the other, taking his time and enjoying his prize. I reached up and latched my teeth onto his neck again, resuming my earlier spot, wanting to make the mark a deeper shade of red. He hissed, thrusting into me harder, more frantically now.

"No need to be a sore loser," he panted. "Don't worry, sweetheart, it's not over yet. I'm not just gonna win, I'm gonna lap you first."

"Lap me?" I squeaked out. I got the idea pretty quickly as to what he meant when he sat up from me, pressed my legs apart, pinning them to the bed, and went to work on my clit again. I gripped the sheets beneath me tightly—fuck, I'd barely even come down from the last one and he was trying to—I felt pins and needles ripple through my body and I was coming again, thrashing beneath him, gasping.

"Shit!" I said, rocking against his hand, eyes wide, shocked at what he'd been able to do. He growled and pushed my legs away from him, sliding out. I groaned at the loss.

"Get on your knees," he ordered. I rolled over and presented myself to him again.

I was hypersensitive now, and he was so far inside me, every single time hitting my sweet spot. I pushed myself up, arching my back as best I could, just making the sensations more intense. I was moaning incoherent strings of fucks and yeses as I felt my body working itself up a third time.

"Baby, how many times you wanna lose this game?" he muttered in my ear, hand coming up to grip at my throat, holding me to his body as he kept a steady pace behind me. A slight squeeze at my throat was all it took for me to come undone again, intensely shaking. He held me against him until I came to my senses and then he threw my upper body down, hard, pressing a hand to my upper back, forcing my face into the mattress.

He moved his hands back to my hips, adjusting me to his desired position, and then began fucking me at his own frantic pace. All I could do was grasp at the pillows in front of me, biting down on one of them to keep from screaming any louder than I already was—to think of the neighbors, I suppose, but the sound of Dean's skin slapping against mine was probably already loud enough to carry. Before long he grunted and pulsed inside of me, falling forward, face coming to rest at the nape of my neck, buried in my hair. He stayed there for a while; I could hear his panting and his ragged breath. As he rolled off I turned to look at him and could see that a fine sheen of sweat was covering most of his face and chest.

"You win, okay?" I said weakly.

"Yeah," he puffed. "I win."


	7. Cold Day In The Sun

In the morning, Georgia slept while Dean woke up slightly earlier than normal and went to speak with Seth and Roman.

"What's up, man?" Seth said.

"I wanna talk about Georgia," Dean replied, sitting on a chair at the front of the room while Seth and Roman sat on their respective beds.

"What about her?"

"I just think… if Bray Wyatt is after her, maybe we shouldn't leave her alone at all," Dean said. "Like I'll be with her most of the time, but I can't always be around. I just don't want her to—"

"We get it, man," Roman said. "If you're not there, one of us will be."

"Cool."

"By the way, you might wanna cover that up," Roman added, pointing at Dean's shoulder. He felt at his neck, finding the red and purple bruise Georgia had left there the night before—it was a little tender. He shrugged, unable to stop the smirk rising into the corner of his cheek. Considering he barely got bruises anymore from taking bumps all night every night, he found it amusing that she'd been able to get under his skin that way, as it were.

"What can I say? She's a biter," he joked. Roman rolled his eyes and shook his head. Seth shifted on the bed.

"We'll be ready in about half an hour," Dean added, walking to the door.

As Dean snuck back into bed, now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Georgia rolled over and cuddled into him.

"You're dressed," she muttered, feeling his shirt, then slipping a hand underneath the fabric to lightly trace his warm, hard abs.

"Yeah, went to talk to the boys for a minute."

"What about?"

"Just about making sure we keep you safe from the Wyatts," he said truthfully.

"I am safe as long as I'm with you."

"That's right."

* * *

They had a short flight around midday, allowing everyone to get back to their apartments in Tampa for a few days—a much needed reprieve from the constant travel. There was so much Georgia wanted to do in the two and a half days she had to relax. She was still pondering first courses of action as she stared at the seat in front of her, waiting for the airline safety demonstration to begin.

"Hey…" Seth leaned across the aisle to catch her attention.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"You got anymore of that band—the one you played in the car? Porcupine Tree."

"Yeah, I got loads. You wanna listen?" Seth nodded. She brought her phone out of her pocket and started to open up the music app. "_Deadwing_ is their heaviest, so you'll probably like that best."

She handed her phone across the aisle. Seth glanced at the album cover art, nodding approvingly.

"Oh, but now you've got nothing to listen to during the flight..."

"Gimme yours then," Georgia said, like it was obvious. Seth hesitated before pulling out his own iPhone—same make and model, but his case was a little less flowery.

"Don't go into anything except the music," he warned. Georgia rolled her eyes.

"Like I wanna see your post-gym selfies, Seth. Yeah, I know you take 'em," she teased. Dean guffawed in the seat next to her as Seth seemed to pretend not to hear her, sticking the audio jack of his over-sized Beats into the corresponding hole. Dean gave her a small elbow as she waved Seth's phone in front of his face.

"Told you I'd get him to like me," she whispered.

* * *

Georgia was dropped off at her apartment in Tampa—by the beach, luckily. She wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to snag such good real estate, although reason suggested that it had something to do with a particularly sleazy landlord who happened to like blondes. She exhaled long and loudly as she closed the door behind her, dropping her bags to her feet beside her. As she glanced at them, the thought ran through her head: _so much washing to do…_

That would come later. She could do that tomorrow, or the day after. She had two and a half whole days basically before she had to fly across the country to the next Raw show in California. What on earth would she do with that time? Gym, of course. She was looking forward to a workout that was not CrossFit oriented, although she had started to enjoy it after a few sessions. What she really wanted, though, was to restock her fridge for the next few days, and then… then she would go to the beach. She grinned to herself at the thought.

Before setting out on a little shopping expedition, she sent a quick text to Dean.

'Bring Curly and Moe and your swimming trunks over to mine. Beach?'

She was in the dairy aisle when her phone buzzed in response.

'Hell yes.

Wait am I Larry?'

She grinned to herself, backing herself out of the aisle, around the pensioners doing their mid-morning shopping, and toward the fresh meats section.

'Yes,' she sent back. 'I'm catering.'

Back home, Georgia slipped into her swimming outfit—a red and white polkadotted bandeau bikini top, matching hipster bottoms and a white linen wrap skirt—and put a bunch of mixed greens, diced tomato and avocado in a bowl waiting for her guests to arrive. She stood in the middle of her admittedly small kitchen, thinking about the absurdity of all of this. She hated cooking, and she hated entertaining, but she genuinely enjoyed the company of the three men she was privileged to call her allies and friends. It made tasks like these considerably less arduous.

Lacking a barbeque, the steaks went in two at a time on a large frying pan, then onto a warm hot plate to keep them at the optimal temperature. The knock came at the door while the last two steaks were cooking. She turned the heat down and skipped over to the door to answer it.

She opened the door onto the sight of three large, shirtless, handsome men and once again found the situation absurd, but, really, pretty awesome.

"Boys," she said, looking them up and down quite deliberately cheekily. CrossFit had done them all a lot of good.

"Georgia," Dean said, returning her look. With her bare stomach exposed, and faintly toned abs outlined beneath her creamy complexion, CrossFit had done much for her, as well. He stepped inside, followed by the other two.

"I thought lunch first, then beach," she explained as Dean sniffed the air, the scent of deliciously cooking red meat filling the apartment and his nostrils. "Since it's just down the road."

"Definitely," Roman said, going over to the kitchen, examining the meats. As Georgia checked the remaining steaks and dumped them all onto plates, the boys sat around her small kitchen table and, not to her surprise, immediately began talking about what else but wrestling.

"I heard someone saying we're defending the titles a bunch of times in the next couple weeks," Seth was saying. "Why the fuck are they doing that?"

"Cuz we've been champions for too long I bet," Roman said. "We can take it."

"And if not, cheat," Dean said, flashing a toothy grin.

After lunch, Georgia gathered up a small bag of necessary beach stuff—a towel, water bottle, sun block, and the like—and led the way down to the beach. The smell of the ocean was incredibly enticing, the hot sand beneath her bare feet as she stepped out of her flip-flops and threw them beside her laid out towel. As Dean, Seth and Roman worked on setting their towels right, Georgia discarded her skirt and quickly tied her hair up.

"I need to go be in that water now," she said.

"Be there in a minute," Dean said, hiking up the legs of his red knee-length trunks as he knelt down and smoothed his towel down. She shrugged and walked off in the direction of the water.

There were a sparse few others around—it being a Tuesday afternoon and all. All the kids were at school, all the adults at work. It was just the four of them, and the wading pensioners of course. This was Florida. Dean turned around and watched his girl wade calf-high into the cool water, waves splashing up to her thighs before recessing, warm sun perfectly outlining her sleek hourglass figure, making her look like a beacon of light.

"Did I ever tell you how glad I am we got a girl to hang out with us," Roman said, nudging Dean. He looked sideways at his partner—he was watching too.

"Asshole," he said, laughing, nudging him back harder. "Look but you can't touch."

Seth turned and joined the two of them, spraying sun tan lotion on his arms from a little plastic bottle. Downshore, Georgia turned in the water as another wave crashed into her from behind, soaking her legs and lower back.

"The fuck are you guys doing? Come on," she called. So much for the graceful siren in the shallow waters—not with that mouth.

Dean shrugged to his teammates and jogged down to the water's edge, making a beeline for Georgia. She backed up, pretty sure she knew what he was going to do. As she got hips-deep, the drag of the water slowed her considerably and Dean caught up to her. He clasped his arms around her and pressed her tight to him, lifting her up and out of the water.

"What are you doing?" she squealed, kicking her legs underneath her, splashing water all around.

"Belly-to-belly suplex?" he pondered, grinning.

"Don't you fuckin' da—"

Dean delivered Georgia a slightly modified version of the belly-to-belly, tossing her sideways as she broke through the water back first. She managed to keep her head above water—just, but the splash came up and soaked her hair and face anyway. She stood up, spluttering water, and Dean was too busy laughing to notice her sizing him up. She lunged, ducking down and catching him around the mid-section, just enough momentum behind her to carry him off his feet and into the water. As Dean got back to his feet again, ready to pounce on Georgia, a loud booming laugh came from behind him.

"Nice spear," Roman said, looking at Georgia. "But you could use some pointers. It's really more like… this." Barely giving Dean any time to turn around, Roman launched himself at Dean, picking him up over his shoulder before slamming him back first into the water once again. The sight of Dean resurfaced, spitting water, sent Georgia into hysterics.

"That was—that was amazing," she wheezed. Dean got to his feet again, look of mock-hurt and betrayal on his face. He started at Roman, intending for some payback, but was stopped in his tracks as Seth launched himself onto Dean's back, applying a half-hearted chinlock.

"Ugh—why are you all picking on me," he moaned, wrestling himself free from Seth.

"You did kind of start it," Georgia pointed out.

"Come here," he growled, lurching towards Georgia. Georgia's eyes flew open and she tried to run away in the waist-deep water. As it became clear that Dean was able to move through the water faster than her, she magnetized to the nearest body, that being Seth's. She grabbed hold of his arm, swinging herself behind him, using him as a human shield.

"Hey!" Seth said, biceps tensing as Georgia held onto them tightly with both hands.

"Shield me from injustice!" she cried. Dean came and stood in front of Seth, and as he moved to go around him, Georgia guided Seth's body to keep him between the two of them.

"Hand over the girl, Rollins, she's mine," Dean said, voice full of playful authority.

"Hey, fucking stop it," Seth said, laughing as he fell slightly off-balance. Wriggling free, he turned to face Georgia, bent down and scooped one arm under her legs, the other behind her back, picking her up with flagrant ease. He turned to face Dean.

"Here, take her, she's a pest." And then Georgia was in the air, Seth having tossed her, like she was an empty suitcase, in Dean's direction. She landed half in Dean's arms, half in the water.

"You fucking bastard!" she cried, but whatever else she was going to call him was cut-off as Dean pushed her by the shoulders and dunked her under the water. She came up to the sight of Rollins' laugh being cut off by another Reigns spear into the water.

It was at that point that all hell broke loose between Seth and Roman. As they wrestled in the water, Georgia turned to Dean. He looked up and down her wet, bikini-clad body, lust obviously apparent in his eyes.

"Oh no," Georgia said, catching his look. "No way."

"C'mon," Dean said in a low voice, thumbing his way under the waistband of her swimming bottoms. "We all know you're an exhibitionist."

Georgia bit her lip and ran her hands up his damp torso, savouring the feeling of the coarse, sand-spotted water between her hands and his body. "Much as I'd like to…"

"Oh, so you would like to?" Dean said, cocking his head, feeling his away around to the small of her back, running his hands down over her ass, over the clingy, wet fabric.

"I still haven't forgiven you for dumping me in the water." She gave him an evil, sweet smile.

"Well, fuckin' excuse me for wanting to get you all wet."

Georgia's giggle was cut off as Dean leant in and captured her lips. They tasted salty—both of them—and something about it was all the more tempting to Georgia as she wrapped her arms around Dean's neck and pulled his body to hers. Waves swelled around them, keeping their bodies moist and cool and slippery against one another. She rocked her hips against him unthinkingly; Dean growled and pulled back. Georgia looked up at him in confusion.

"Things are gonna get real awkward if you keep doing that," he said.

Georgia smirked. "You wanted to fool around in the water."

"Mm, yeah, didn't think that far ahead."

The four wrestlers had long since tired themselves out, and as the day began to give them warm but less intense late afternoon sun, Georgia saw an opportunity for sun-baking. After 20 minutes or so on one side, she rolled onto her stomach, reaching behind her back to undo her bikini top. Tan lines wouldn't do for next time she was on screen. She turned her head sideways and looked down the line of men. Dean was beside her, long since having dozed off. Roman had a book open.

"Hey Seth," she called, lifting her head a little. He was just staring out to sea, knees up at his chest. He turned his head in her direction, blinked and swallowed, then looked back towards the ocean.

"Yeah?" he said, eyes fixed front.

"Did you like the album you listened to on the flight?"

"Yeah," he answered. "Not bad."

"Cool," she said. "Let me know if you ever want any other music recommendations."

She was pushing her luck and she knew it, but hopefully he knew she was just kidding around. He gave a soft snort and kept looking ahead, out at the crashing waves. Just like that, it seemed, Seth's good mood had disappeared. Once again, Georgia was not sure what she had done, but made a mental note not to do anything of the sort in the future. She laid her head back down, sniggered as Dean let out a quiet snore and focused all her energy on the pleasant warm rays shining down on her back.


	8. Spoken For

"Do you think you're perhaps taking this keep me guarded at all times thing a little bit too seriously?" Georgia whispered, swallowing half her words as Dean pushed her up against the locker room wall.

There certainly were perks, Georgia thought, as she felt him trail a hand up her inner thigh, to being constantly accompanied by the Shield, and Dean in particular. If anything, it had upped the frequency and intensity of their sexual escapades. Georgia was like candy sitting on the counter to Dean; if it was there, he would want to reach out and grab it, no matter how full he already was.

This was a new game Dean had just recently started to enjoy playing: to see how far he could get, how close he could cut it, before Seth and Roman walked in. It got him off—like _really _got him off. He was already fit to burst out of his pants as he pinned her to the wall. She was squirming, the way he liked it, constantly moving against him, trying to press her body to his a little more. She was always like that—so keening, like everything was eating her up inside until she could get at him under his clothes. He groaned as her thigh made contact with hardness. Everything ached until Georgia touched it, and then it was just on fire, which was just as bad, but in a different way.

She caught his bottom lip, wanting to taste it, sucking it into her own mouth, taking charge for just a moment, just to get this _one_ thing she needed. He was slightly salty, but sweet at the same time. The taste just drove her wild—she started fidgeting and fiddling with the buckles on the front of his utility vest. Too many fucking layers. She eventually got him unhooked and pulled the front of his black undershirt untucked, running her hands up his smooth, solid abs. He tensed his core muscles instinctively, and she grinned as she felt him do so. His hands were everywhere, tugging at the shiny fabric of Georgia's wrestling attire, playing at the elasticated waistband.

"You think I can make you come before they get back?" he growled into her lips, slipping a hand deep down into her spandex—such a tight fit—coming to rest over her heat. She moved her hips against him and made a mewling sound that Dean knew he'd be thinking about all week, at this rate.

That was all the encouragement he needed as he probed one finger inside of her—god, she was already so fucking ready for him. He worked into a slow rhythm, circling her clit, then dipping inside her, then stroking outside again, the rough pads of his fingertips creating frantic electricity in her core. She was putty in his hands.

"Come on, sweetheart," he purred in her ear, flicking his tongue out to catch her earlobe. "I ain't got all day."

She held onto his shoulders for dear life, muscles in her legs failing her—she'd forgotten how to stand. Despite all the static in her ears, she heard the distinct roar of the crowd. The match—Seth and Roman's match—was over. God, she had minutes, seconds even, depending how things had gone. As Dean bit at her neck and the corner of her jaw she climbed to yet another level, whimpering, cheeks going rosy red from the sustained effort of just _desperately _wanting to come. Footsteps now coming down the hall to the locker room. Georgia bit her own lip and pushed herself over the edge, grasping at every millimetre of sensation, every nanomovement. She gripped Dean by the back of the neck tight and rode his hand out, quietly moaning.

"Good girl," he growled as he drew back from her, watching her with lazy fire in his eyes. His hand had only been out of her pants a good three or four seconds when Seth and Roman walked in, visible to Georgia over Dean's shoulder. Before he turned to greet them, he brought his hand up and dipped his fingers into his own mouth, making devastating eye-contact with Georgia. She tried to straighten herself up, hoping the color had faded from her cheeks.

The scene was obvious: Dean's vest was undone, black undershirt untucked, Georgia' glazed look. But Dean was the most confident guy in the world and, well, the guys had stopped caring, frankly. He clicked his vest back up as Seth slumped into a chair. Roman stayed standing, walking back and forth, favoring one leg heavily over the other.

"How'd it go?" Dean asked.

"We still got the belts, don't we?" Seth replied, grinning.

"Hell yeah. No Wyatts?"

"No Wyatts," Roman confirmed.

"Right. I'm up next, then," Dean said, turning back to Georgia. "You can't come out—it won't be safe."

She slowly nodded. She liked being out there, but, he was right. Seth and Roman were in no state to go back out, and no-one technically knew where they were back here. It was safe.

"Good luck," Georgia offered. Dean winked and turned on his heels, picking his belt up, leaving the locker room with his usual haste.

"Well," Roman said. "My ankle fucking hurts. I'm going to the trainer."

"You want me to come?" Seth asked, standing up. Georgia opened her mouth to say something, but Roman replied first.

"No, you stay here with Georgie. I can get there on my own."

Seth sat back down, clearly disappointed. Georgia rolled her eyes.

"So I'm babysitting, great," Seth muttered as Roman shut the door behind him.

"You know I can hear you, you know," Georgia said. Seth just looked at her, then back down at his shoes and began unlacing them. "I don't get it, Seth. Why do you fucking hate me so much? I mean, I've been nothing but nice, I don't get in the way… Sometimes it seems like maybe you don't mind me so much but then we go right back to square fucking one."

Seth kicked off his boots and leaned back confidently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You _can't_ expect me to believe that," Georgia said, pacing towards the front of the locker room. "I mean, you're doing it right now. What is it? What can I do to fix it?"

Georgia came to a stop in front of the seated man, hands on her hips, eyes flaring. He stared at her for a long time and then said, "Nothing."

"Nothing," she repeated. "Nothing at all? Be less annoying? Don't quote Arrested Development all the time? What?"

Seth shook his head and sighed. "Can we drop it?"

"I mean, I just want to get to the bottom of this, Seth. So we can be a more cohesive unit. Because I'm not going anywhere. And this isn't going to work if one of us hates the other."

"I don't hate you," he said quietly. His big brown eyes glanced up at her and then returned to the grey speckled carpet. "I really don't…" In one movement he rose to his feet. Georgia stepped back. "If anything, I hate myself," he said, inching towards her. "For wanting to do this."

"Seth—" She was cut off by the lightning fast movement of his face towards hers and the contact of his lips, tender and urgent all at once. She pulled away on instinct, but his hands were at the back of her head, and god, he was strong. This was everything he had wanted—these long weeks, the longest of his life. She was so sweet and, no, she wasn't kissing him back, strictly speaking, but was she really struggling _that_ much? He wanted more of her, to press his body against hers—he moved one of his hands down the back of her neck, over the back of her shoulders. Georgia slid her hands in between the two of them, placing them on Seth's chest. He growled and kissed her deeper, wrestling her lips open—his mouth was still open and ready when she shoved him back with all her might.

"What the hell?" Georgia said warily. So this was how Seth had felt all along? A large part of her wanted to slap him across his bearded face, but she thought better of it. She still had to work with him.

"C'mon, why not?" he said, moving towards her again. She reclaimed the distance.

"Why not?" she echoed, incredulous look on her face. "Are you fucking being serious right now? What about the small fact that I have a boyfriend, who is also your _best_ friend?"

"You left Sami for Dean," Seth pointed out.

"Yeah?"

"You can leave him for me. It's that easy."

"It's not that I _can't_ leave him," Georgia said, anger bubbling within, dangerously close to the surface of her skin. "I don't _want _to leave him. I don't want—God, what gave you the slightest idea that you thought I might want _this_, from you?"

Seth gave a half-hearted laugh and a lop-sided smile.

"You're trying to tell me you didn't? You expect me to believe you think I can't hear the two of you all night when our rooms are right next door? God, I got my rocks off so many times just—" Seth trailed off and laughed, stepping towards her, backing her to the wall. Georgia recoiled, her stomach dropping. He continued in a low, silky-smooth voice, one she was not used to hearing, and it chilled her. "You always smile at me, try to talk to me, teasing me, but no, you're a good little girl, aren't you? Yeah, tell me you didn't want this."

"I just wanted you to… accept me," she said, her voice coming out much smaller and weaker than she expected. Seth's confidence, his anger—it all cast doubt on what Georgia knew within herself to be true. Had she really acted that way? Had she led him on when she shouldn't have? How did smiling at a person suggest that you wanted to—god, where had all of this come from? How long had it been stewing? She dragged her eyes from the floor back up to look Seth straight in his piercing black eyes. Keeping his gaze, she slid out from the wall and made for the door.

"I can't be here right now, I'm gonna go…"

"You can't—the Wyatts," Seth said.

"I'll take my chances."

"Georgia—"

"Don't even fucking think of following me, Seth," she said, voice wavering.

"No, I just—"

Georgia looked back and studied his face, full of worry. But he wasn't worried about her, she could see that. He wasn't afraid of the Wyatts right now. No—he had kissed his best friend's girl. That was a whole other level of fear.

"I won't tell Dean if you don't," she said finally. He exhaled and nodded. "I'll be back before his match is over."


	9. This Is How I Disappear

Georgia padded down the deserted corridor with no specific destination in mind, head swimming, the taste of Seth on her lips, face tingling from the coarseness of his beard on the surface of her skin. Everything was out of kilter.

She didn't even notice the other footsteps in the hall, two sets quiet and creeping, one set heavier and deliberate. Bray looked up to his brother Erick with a warning glare.

"You stay here," he said, and Erick stopped. "Keep watch." He gestured for Luke to keep following him.

Georgia walked until she reached the end of the corridor, straight towards the wall, where she put her hands against the cool painted brick façade and hung her head. Either side of her she could hear the distant sounds of hustling bodies, excited crowds and action, and from behind her, some footsteps, much closer—slower than the average walking pace, too.

She turned around, but it was far too late. Luke Harper hoisted one arm around her mid-section and the other over her mouth, muffling her scream. Bray Wyatt stood in front of her as she was held above the ground, tight against the bigger man's body.

"Come with us, my pretty one," he drawled, tracing a finger down her cheek, finger resting under her chin. "We'll take away all that pain you feel inside."

* * *

Dean stomped back to the locker room tired, sweaty and sore. He really didn't care for Rob Van Dam; he did too much jumping around. He wouldn't be jumping for a while now, though. A clean headlock driver for the pin had shut both him and the rest of the idiots in the crowd up, for the meantime. Now he just needed to get back to Georgia, and his teammates—but mainly Georgia. There was a lot of unfinished business there to take care of. He smirked at the thought.

He pushed the door to the locker room and found Seth sitting inside, alone, brooding. That was fairly par for the course. But where was Georgia? Seth looked up.

"Hey, man, how'd it go?" he asked.

"Fine," Dean replied, narrowing his eyes. "Where's Georgia? She with Roman?"

"Uhh… no," Seth admitted. His face turned white as Dean's expression soured.

"You let her go off alone?" Dean threw his United States title towards his bag, forcefully. "I leave you for one fucking second… Why?"

Seth swallowed. "I don't know, man, maybe she wanted to be alone for a while? We have been watching her like hawks…"

"You mean you didn't say anything to her? It's so obvious you don't like her, Seth. What did you say?"

"Nothing, I swear." Seth shook his head, eyes avoiding focusing on the increasingly heated Ambrose at all costs. "Look, let's go get her. She hasn't even been gone that long."

"How long?"

"Five minutes maybe. I thought it'd be okay."

Dean turned on his heels and re-opened the locker room door.

"Come on," he said. Seth followed.

Coming at them at a distance down the opposite end of the hall was the reassuring figure of Roman Reigns. Small waves of relief washed over Dean, but as he got closer he frowned. He was alone.

"Have you seen Georgia?" Dean said. Roman's face scrunched up, and then his eyes widened.

"No," he said, slowly. "She's not with you?"

"Some asshole let her go off alone," Dean said.

"The Wyatts are around tonight," Roman said. "I think I saw them earlier."

In a move that startled both of his companions, Dean kicked the wall full-force, the thick leather of his boots connecting with a dull thud.

"Feel better?" Seth said sarcastically.

"Fuck you," Dean shot back. The two men stared each other down, bicep muscles flexing and tensing.

"Guys, whatever," Roman cut in. "Can we just try and find her?"

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head.

"Now, did you try calling her?" Roman asked. "She would have taken her phone with her."

Dean slapped at his pockets, knowing full well he wasn't carrying his cell with him. "Do you have yours?" he asked, looking at Roman hopefully.

"Yeah," he said, pulling it out of his pocket. He scrolled through the list and pressed his finger to the screen over Georgia's contact details. With Dean looking as anxious as he was, he sent the signal to loudspeaker. They huddled around the phone, listening to its static ring.

Further down the hall, listening as intently as he was, Dean thought he could hear music. Not just any music, either.

Pearl Jam.

Georgia's ringtone.

He gestured for his teammates to follow him toward the noise. Rounding the corner, he found Georgia's iPhone, vibrating on the ground, almost out of view under a table, like somebody had skidded it under there on purpose.

There was no sign of a scuffle, nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary had happened, except for the phone, of course, and what had been deliberately placed on top of the table. The hat—Bray Wyatt's straw fedora. The message was clear.

The Wyatts had been here.

And so, by the looks of things, had Georgia.

Picking up Georgia's phone and turning back around to look at his teammates, Dean Ambrose had fire in his eyes, and a sick smile on his face. He placed the phone in his right breast pocket and turned to Seth, who seemed frozen in time, staring at the hat. Dean's fist connected with Seth's left cheekbone, knocking him out of his trance and into the sharp pain of reality. Dean stood watching as Seth recovered and brought a hand up to his face. Roman made a move to step between the two of them, but Seth was already backing away, shock evident on his face.

Seth breathed in deeply, still feeling the sting of the punch. A red mark was already beginning to form in the shape of Dean's knuckles.

"I might have deserved that," he said.

"You deserved it and more," Dean growled. "But we haven't got time."

* * *

When Georgia woke up, there was a lot of darkness, and silence. The darkness she attributed to the blindfold, which she did not remember being put on her. Truth was, there was a lot she didn't remember. She remembered being jumped from behind, by Harper. She remembered Bray Wyatt saying 'Come with us…' and that was about all. Had they carted her off to some secret location?

The first thing Georgia did was tug on her restraints, arms bound behind her, wrapped around the backing of a knobby wooden chair. Her legs were bound, too, and as she rocked forward, the chair moved with her.

God, she was in Bray Wyatt's rocking chair.

She tried to quiet her own breathing, listening for the sounds of others, but there was nothing except the creaking of the chair. More questions started to flood through her mind. For one, how long had she been here, and how long had she been unconscious? What had happened in the intervening time? She felt normal, physically—maybe a little bit out of it. But if they hadn't touched her, what had they done? She forced the thoughts out of her head and worked on loosening her restraints and trying to shake the tightly tied blindfold from her eyes.

Georgia stopped her struggling the moment she heard the loud bang and unlatching of a door somewhere behind her. Footsteps, quick and purposeful, moved towards her. She went completely still.

"Jesus, Georgie…"

That voice was familiar. She knew it well. Her blindfold was lifted off from behind her. She craned her neck around to see the face of Dean Ambrose, creased in concern, fiddling with her restraints, attempting to free her.

"Dean…" she choked out. "I'm sorry, I went off alone, Seth—"

"Hey, whatever," Dean said, yanking her arms free of the rope, now working on the legs. "We found you."

"Where are the others?"

"Brawling with Harper and Rowan."

She was completely freed now. Georgia moved her legs—her knees felt stiff.

"So where's Bray?" Georgia asked. The mastermind—why wasn't he here with his… prize? Dean came around to crouch in front of her.

"I don't know, we never came across him. We've been looking for hours. We thought he might be here, but…" They both glanced nervously around the dim room. There were dark corners, for sure, but it was definitely empty, so far as they could tell. "Let's get you out of here," Dean said, moving his arms to circle Georgia's waist. She draped her arms around his neck and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Her legs were weaker than she thought, and her head was spinning.

"Dean, wait, you said you were looking for me for hours…" Georgia said hazily as he helped her to the door. Something about the timeline was off.

"Yeah?" he replied, pushing the door open. The hallway outside was much lighter. They had just been in a different part of the arena.

"I don't remember… None of it."

Dean frowned. No memory of the last few hours? He'd had enough of his own to know that was probably a sign of a severe concussion. "I think we might need to take you to the hospital," he said.

"No…" Georgia said weakly, grabbing Dean by the forearm. "Just take me home."

Dean just chuckled. "You picked the wrong damn time to argue with me, sweetheart."


	10. Master of Puppets

_Master of puppets  
__I'm pulling your strings  
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams_

* * *

The ride to the hospital was a blur. The next things I could honestly say I vividly remember were 1) the cold white walls of the hospital examination room, and 2) the light—right in my fucking eyes. Dean was sitting on a chair while I sat sideways on the bed, legs hanging off, as the doctor checked my pupils.

"Follow my finger for me."

I kept my eyes on the fleshy pink fingerprint, able to make out the detail of the swirls and ridges. The doctor turned her penlight off.

"Well," she said. "She's not concussed."

I could have told you that. I glanced at Dean. For the first time since we left the room I had been held in by the Wyatts, his expression morphed into a smile.

"Then why can't I remember anything?" I asked. "Two whole hours… I can't have been unconscious the whole time."

"Some drugs can knock you unconscious but leave no trace and have no after-effects," the doctor said. "I'm not sure what happened to you, but you're in perfect health. There's no need to keep you in for observation. You can go, if you like."

We left the emergency department awkwardly, about as confused as when we entered. When we got back to the hotel and up to our floor, Seth and Roman were hovering outside the room. As the elevator opened, they looked up from their conversation and walked over to us immediately. Seth stood in front of me. I stared at him, blank-faced, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Georgia," he said, grasping the back of his neck with one hand. "That I let you go off alone."

I nodded in acknowledgement. I didn't really feel like saying anything else to that man at this point. A lot had happened to me in the past couple of hours, but I hadn't forgotten any of what Seth had said… or done. None of it was forgivable, at least not until he apologised, _properly_.

"You're okay, though?" Roman asked.

"I feel fine," I replied. "I'm confused, because I don't know what exactly happened—why Bray let Dean come and get me without a fight, or whatever. I don't remember what happened. But… yeah, I guess I'm fine."

"Good," Roman said, pulling me into a hug under his huge tattooed arm. Dean let go of my waist momentarily to let Roman embrace me. For a moment, I felt safe again.

* * *

Between that weird, weird night and the next show, I had little time to think about Bray Wyatt. He felt like the furthest thing from my mind, though, at the same time, still present. Both Seth and I deliberately avoided being in a room with each other, as often as we could. Maybe space was the best thing. Long car journeys had never been so awkward…

We stopped for a break and some food about halfway to the next town. Seth and Roman got out of the car straight away. I made a move to open the car door and follow them, but Dean leaned over and pulled my arm back gently.

"Hey, can we talk a second?" he asked.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"Look, I've just been thinking, that night, with the Wyatts—I've been wondering why you thought it was a good idea to go off alone."

It was a fair question, and one, to his credit, he'd refrained from asking me while I was still recovering from the whole incident. But I seemed to be fine now, and I knew both mine and Seth's stories had holes in them.

I didn't answer him at first, mainly because my first instinct was to tell the truth. I had to stop myself. I wanted to tell him, I really did, but—was that the best course of action right now? I didn't know how Dean would react to that kind of information. If he went off the deep end and tried to start something with Seth—well, they were both volatile enough that something was bound to explode. With the Wyatts still breathing heavily down our necks, could the Shield really afford a fracture in unity? It would put not only myself in jeopardy, but them, as well—not to mention their titles.

All of this thought and reasoning took up the space of a couple of seconds while Dean waited for my reply.

"Look," I said, finally. "You know Seth and I don't get along sometimes. He says stuff that gets under my skin. I know he does it on purpose, so I thought instead of blowing up at him I'd just… go somewhere else."

"You and Seth," he said, shaking his head. I tensed slightly as he put our names together. "You're going to have to work your shit out sometime, you know."

"Well, you know my feelings on it," I said, shrugging. "It takes two, though."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, he's a stubborn bastard."

"That he is."

I smiled. Dean was seeming to take what I'd said at face value. One day in the future, once the Wyatts were dealt with, when I thought we were in a place where that information would do less damage to the team, I would tell him the truth—what had really happened. This wasn't that day, though.

* * *

I noticed, when we all came out for the first match of the night—myself versus Bella #2 for the umpteenth time—that the crowd seemed to be warming to us more and more. Granted, I was facing a Bella, so I was probably the more palatable option there, but all the same, there was something stirring between us and the Wyatts. The crowd knew it—we all knew it—and the Shield were the lesser of two evil in that regard, that was for sure.

Being flanked by the Shield for my match was always good fun, watching the scared expressions of the Bellas in the ring, knowing they were powerless in the face of these men to scheme and cheat their way through matches like they normally would. Robbed of the numbers game advantage, it was myself one-on-one with Brie. The Divas Champion versus a wannabe reality star? The outcome was almost predetermined.

The referee raised my arm in victory as the Shield moved into the ring to hold me up as champion. Facing the cameras, we each held up a title belt apiece. This is what dominance looks like.

A sharp sound rang out around the arena, and we were plunged into pitch darkness. On the titantron, a man in a sheep mask was replaced by the ominous figure of Bray Wyatt.

_We're here._

They made their way down to the ring, slowly, illuminated by a small white lamp. I felt Dean pull on both of my arms, moving himself in front of me until we were belly-to-back. I could hear Seth and Roman moving around me, shifting back and forth, ready for a fight. When the lights came back up, all three of the Wyatt Family members were standing in the ring with us—but I had barely heard them enter. It was too supernatural. I began to feel ill. I peeked over Dean's broad shoulder; Bray Wyatt held a microphone in his hand.

"You know why we're here," he said slowly as Rowan and Harper faced up with Roman and Seth. It was a wonder a brawl hadn't already broken out. Dean relinquished his grip on my arms and stepped forward towards Bray. Even from behind him, I could see his whole body tensed up, hackles raised, like a dog protecting it's territory.

"I'm here to collect what is rightfully mine," Bray said. He looked past Dean and made eye contact with me. My blood ran completely cold looking into his chilled, vacant eyes. "Georgia… Obey."

_…ObeyObeyObeyObeyObey…_

I felt the words seep into the back of my skull and take control of my body. I sunk to my knees. The feeling of the hard, springy canvas below my knees, and someone, faintly shouting, were the last things I remembered before fading to black.


	11. Stockholm Syndrome

**NOTE: DUBIOUS CONSENT WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER.**

* * *

_This is the last time I'll abandon you_  
_And this is the last time I'll forget you_  
_I wish I could_

* * *

Georgia dropped to her knees. As soon as Bray had stopped talking, she seemed to forget where she was, and what she was doing. The microphone tumbled to the ground and hit the mat with a sharp, static thud.

"Georgia!" Dean yelled. She was on all fours now. She turned her head and looked at Dean. There was faint panic behind her eyes, but her expression was otherwise blank. "Get up!" he barked.

She didn't respond. She turned her head back towards the mat and her hands moved forward, and then her knees, pulled along like a puppet on a string. She crawled towards Bray, limbs propelling her ever closer, as the look in her eyes moved from panic to determination.

The change in her expression stirred panic and rage in Dean's stomach. He launched himself at Bray, knocking him against the ropes, unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks to his mid-section. Roman soon joined in the fray, delivering a crunching spear to Erick Rowan, taking him to the ground and pummelling him against the mat. With lightning fast speed, Seth jumped up and collected Harper with a spinning kick to the head. Harper tumbled to the outside and lay there, stunned.

Seth looked down at Georgia. She was still kneeling in the centre of the ring, but it seemed as though her internal compass had gone slightly haywire as soon as Dean had jumped on Bray. Her eyes were wide and she was breathing heavily, her arm stretched out in the direction of the fight between Bray and Dean, like she was reaching out to try to stop it. Seth glanced between her and Dean; Bray was fighting back, switching their bodies so that now Dean was on the ropes. Seth jumped at Bray, trying to grab him in a headlock. As Dean gasped for momentary air, he looked down at Georgia. Bray still had him tightly by the front of his shirt, forearm pressed forcefully against his throat.

"Get Georgia," Dean slurred, throwing his arm out wide in the direction of the neglected blonde in the centre of the ring. Seth relented his grip on the struggling Wyatt, somewhat hesitantly. As soon as he did, Bray stabilized and delivered another sickening knee to the gut of Ambrose. Seth looked back in the direction of the scuffle.

"Go," Dean choked out. This time, Seth was smart enough to obey. He dropped down from Bray's back and turned to help Georgia. He tried to lift her to her feet, but she was dead weight, refusing to support herself. Crouching, he slid an arm under her mid-section and lifted her up, hoisting her over his shoulder. Immediately, she screamed and thrashed, getting louder and more violent the further Seth took her away from the action in the ring.

He wasn't entirely sure how he got her through the ropes—she might have a few bruises when she came to, he thought briefly—but eventually, somehow, he got her up and over the barricade, carrying her the whole way through the crowd. Looking back over his shoulder, he could still see the distant figures of his teammates battling the Wyatts. With Harper neutralised for the meantime, they were one-on-one, wearing each other down. He hoped they'd be able to fight their way out of it, especially once Harper woke up from that kick.

Once back within what they could reasonably call their 'secure' zone, Seth shoved the still-struggling Georgia through the door and took one long look down the empty hallway to see if Dean and Roman had been able to get away yet. He shut the door behind him, and as soon as he turned around, Georgia launched herself at him.

"Let me go back to Bray," she raged, scratching at his face and neck. He quickly took hold of both her hands and wrenched them to her sides. Whatever trance she was in, he was still stronger than her. She seemed to take note of the fire in his eyes and stood still. Warily, he let go of her hands.

"There," he said calmly. "It's okay."

After a second, Georgia made a small move to try and step around Seth and get at the door, but his quick reflexes stopped her again, and he could have sworn he heard her whimper.

"Sit down," he said gently. Georgia nodded, going and standing in the middle of the room. She sat down cross-legged on the floor. Seth stayed by the door, the only available entry or exit point, but kept his gaze on Georgia. Now she was eerily calm, staring straight ahead of her.

Suddenly her eyes darted up and she caught Seth's gaze. A smile spread across her face and it sent a shiver up Seth's spine. He turned away and focused on the status of the door, which remained closed.

"Seth…" Georgia called from her position on the floor.

"What?" Seth replied, keeping his back turned.

"How come you won't you look at me?"

As if just to prove a point, Seth turned back and looked at Georgia. She was sitting on her knees now, running her hands up and down her thighs, still with that weird, tranced look in her eyes.

"We both know normally you look at me a _lot_," she continued, looking down with phoney coyness. "And I have noticed—I always did. I know exactly what you want from me."

Seth shifted onto his heels and swallowed hard. "Georgia, no. You were right, I should never have—I don't want that from you anymore. Especially not when you're in a state like this."

"Oh, but you do, just _look _at you! God, you can't even stand still," she cooed, rising to her feet. And to her credit, she was right: he was fiddling with his vest with both hands, and as she stepped forward, all of Seth's muscles began to tense. "Seth, do you want to fuck me?" she said, voice only a few decibels above a whisper.

Georgia tilted her head as she watched Seth visibly shudder at her words, like it was the dirtiest thing he'd heard, which it wasn't, not by a long shot, but from her it was just that: forbidden and oh-so-sweet. She stopped about two feet from him and stood there.

"Come here, Seth," she said. Every time she said his name it sent an unwanted shiver down his spine and an uninvited jolt to… another place. Everything about the way he felt about Georgia had been uninvited. "I don't bite," she smirked, "unless you want me to."

Seth stepped forward, almost chest-to-chest with the spellbound Georgia, and the conflict in his dark eyes was soon consumed and replaced, burnt up, by lust.

"This is going to ruin everything," he murmured, gazing intently at Georgia's lips, pink and moist, turned up into a smirk.

Georgia laughed dismissively. "Honey, you already ruined it."

The tipping point came and went where Seth couldn't stand it anymore and he crashed his lips to Georgia's, instantly turning her around to back her against the door. He bit at her bottom lip, tasting it, pulling at it until he heard her desperate sigh, then dove his tongue inside her mouth. As an impulsive growl escaped his throat, he took a single moment to remind himself who out of the two of them was technically possessed right now.

Georgia's hands were pulling at his undershirt, untucking him from his pants, and now they were roaming up his abs, moving freely, hooking under his belt. He pushed his body into hers, completely overwhelming her with his hard, muscular form. Smirking as Seth moved to pay attention to her neck, she deftly unbuckled him and reached inside his pants, finding him hard. She squeezed through the cotton fabric and Seth let out a guttural sigh, all of him tensing up once again.

"Oh my god, you don't know how good it feels when you do that," he groaned. Georgia squeezed him again in response, lighter this time, teasingly, and Seth growled again. He was coming undone far quicker than he'd been prepared to. Seth's hand shot down and grabbed Georgia's as she lazily stroked him through his underwear and pinned her wrist against the door. She glanced up at her restrained arm and then at Seth, something like excitement in her eyes, daring him to follow through.

"Turn around," he ordered, releasing his grip on Georgia's arm and backing up to allow her space to move. She turned, achingly slowly, putting her palms flat against the door. Seth grabbed at her hips and pulled them towards him, his hardness pressing up against her round, lycra-clad ass. He slid both his hands inside the elastic and pulled them down as he leant over and breathed softly into her ear.

"I'm gonna fuck you like you deserve to be fucked," he growled. "Okay?"

Georgia responded with a pleading whimper, that said more than words ever could. As he lined himself up, Georgia arched her back.

"You're a fucking little tease, you know that, Rush?" Rollins said as he held his pulsating tip at her entrance. "How bad do you really want it?"

"I want it," she moaned, pushing back. "Please, I need you to fuck me. It's all I want."

"Fuck," Seth grunted, her words pushing him over the edge as he plunged deep inside her. Sweet relief washed over him; everything about the way she felt clenched around him was just so damn perfect. She was melting against him, panting in short little breaths as he moved in and out of her, slowly at first, then increasing his pace.

"Fuck, Georgia," he groaned. "Fuck…God!"

Curse words were flying as Seth's pelvis slapped satisfyingly against Georgia's rear end. He reached forward and cupped her chin in one hand—the other gripping firmly on her hip—and turned her head towards him. Bending forward, he made contact with her lips, keeping his rhythm, kissing her sloppily.

"God, Seth, make me come," she moaned into his open mouth, reaching back and clawing at his hip, desperately trying to pull him harder against her.

Seth picked up the pace, leaning back to get more force behind his thrusts. With the deeper angle, Georgia let out an ecstatic cry. Seth slapped his hand over her mouth.

"Shhhh, who knows who could be around," Seth muttered, in between breaths.

"Mmmph!" Georgia strained against Seth's hand, eyes rolling back in her head as she slipped further into that hazy state of bliss. As Seth slid his other hand around her waist and brushed a calloused fingertip over her sensitive mound, she felt tension spark and ignite in her core. Her vision went black.

"Oh, god," Seth muttered, feeling Georgia clench around him. "I'm gonna—"

At the last moment, Seth felt himself pulse and so pulled out of Georgia, spilling into his own hand as she moaned from the loss. Once recovered, he looked up at Georgia. She had dropped back down to her knees. Panic suddenly washed over Seth, jerking him out of his post-orgasmic bliss.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered, quickly buttoning himself back up before scooping Georgia up in his arms. Her head immediately fell back into his shoulder. As her face turned towards his, he saw that her eyes had fluttered closed once again. He dragged her to the centre of the room and adjusted her tights at the front. That was fine, he thought—she looked normal again now.

He sat down next to Georgia's motionless form; the fact that she was now unconscious, so soon after, unnerved Seth, made him second-guess himself. She came onto _him_, didn't she? Did it matter if she wasn't in her right mind? God, it was wrong—all wrong—but he'd wanted it _so much_. He stared at her intently, willing her to wake up and tell him that it was all okay. Her eyes remained closed, chest softly rising and falling beneath a very thin sheen of sweat. Seth buried his head in his hands.


	12. In The Fade

_Just live till you die, wanna drown_  
_With nowhere to fall into the arms of someone_  
_There's nothing to save I know_  
_You live till you die_

* * *

I came to what must have been much later that night. I woke up on the hotel bed spread, in a completely different set of clothes—a black tank top and shorts, both must have been fished out of my bag. I sat up and looked around the room. Dean was sitting in an armchair at the foot of the bed, like a regular Florence Nightingale. He looked up from his book—avid reader, that one—and gave me a half-hearted smile.

"You're awake," he said, closing his book. He rose from his seat and came over to join me on the bed. I pushed myself up a little higher against the headboard. "How do you feel? What do you remember?" he asked.

"Good question," I said. "I feel fine—actually, my head is throbbing a little but I feel fine, physically."

Dean nodded.

"As for what I remember," I said, "I don't remember much after I won my match. Actually, not true—I remember the lights went out. Um, the Wyatt Family music. Bray was in the ring. He said…um…obey. Is that what happened?"

"More or less," Dean said. "Some shit went down after that."

"Like what?"

"We brawled with the Wyatts. Seth took you back, kept you safe. You were passed out when we got back to the locker room."

I shook my head. "I don't remember any of that."

"Well, we could hear you screaming as he carried you away. Seth seemed pretty shaken up when we got back. Dunno what you did to him while you were having your… episode."

I gave a little laugh. It was kind of an amusing thing to imagine, me trying to scratch the shit of Rollins's face (god knows he deserved it after everything), but the look in Dean's eyes was anything but amused.

"He didn't tell you what happened?" I asked.

Dean shrugged. "I haven't really had a chance to talk to him. My priority was getting you back here."

I nodded and smiled weakly. "Maybe I'll ask him later. Hopefully I didn't leave any permanent marks on that pretty face." I paused, then added, "Thanks for taking care of me." I felt pathetic for saying it but Dean just smiled and shook his head. "So where do we go from here?" I said.

"Well," Dean said, scooching closer to me, looping his arm around my neck and pulling me into his chest. "I haven't discussed it with Seth and Roman yet, but I think next time we go to work, we just go after the Wyatts. Find them, find wherever it is they hide out. We beat the ever loving _fuck _out of them and force Bray to undo whatever he did to your… brain, I guess."

"Flawless plan," I said, smirking a little. "This is why you're the brains of this operation." I was starting to feel a lot less groggy, and everything seemed to be returning back to normal just by the fact of having Dean's arm around me.

"Oh, well at least your sarcasm survived the lobotomy."

I pulled back in mock offence. "Dean Ambrose, I am a victim of an unspecified assault and you are making lobotomy jokes. For shame."

Dean chuckled and pulled me right back into him, turning his head so that we were almost nose-to-nose.

"Are you feeling better then?" he asked softly, bringing one hand up to brush down my cheek and over my neck, leaving goosebumps, trailing over my exposed collarbone.

"Yes, much," I replied, watching his intent expression as his fingers played with and hooked under the strap of my top. Gently pulling it across and down my arm, my breast was exposed, and he lightly ghosted his hand over it. My skin rose up automatically, my nipple hardened, begging for more than a faint brush.

"You know I can be gentle when I want to be," he murmured, running his fingertips across my chest, leaving a tingling sensation behind. "You always want it so rough, and I like that, I _really_ like that—" he trailed off. I whimpered as he ran his hand down my breast again and gently held my nipple between two fingers, squeezing ever so lightly. He moved his head down to place his lips on my neck, tongue flicking out over my taut, hypersensitive skin. I bit down on my bottom lip to stop myself from whimpering again.

"Do you want me to keep going?" he asked, running his lips along the top of my shoulder, continuing to exert barely-there pressure on my nipple.

As his hand trailed down from my breast and he hooked his fingers into my shorts I felt something inside me pull back and retreat. There was a memory, or a feeling—something I couldn't put my finger on, but at that moment, sex didn't feel like something I wanted or needed. It was like I was already spent. I reached down to his hand inching down and brought it back up.

"Huh?" Dean said softly, slightly confused.

"I don't know," I sighed, pulling my tank top back up to cover myself. "After everything today, would you mind just… not? I just wanna lay here with you. Is that okay?"

I looked up and Dean was just listening and nodding. "Yeah, of course," he said, pulling me in tighter. "I'll keep my hands to myself."

"You know, I feel pretty lucky to have someone like you," I said sleepily, burying my head into his chest some more.

"Oh, you are," he said jokingly.

I halfheartedly slapped at his shoulder. "Even if you are an egotistical maniac."

"Don't act like that's not _exactly_ why you like me," he said.

I didn't have a smart enough reply to that, so I resorted to tracing lines up and down his tanned forearm, running my fingers through the soft, blonde hairs. I must have fallen asleep again after that.

* * *

By the time we got backstage for the next show, the rumours had already been flying for some time that the Shield-plus-Georgia were looking for the Wyatts, and the Wyatts were looking for the Shield. Given how close I had been to our locker room when the Wyatts grabbed me last time, everyone agreed that it was probably smart to assume that our safehouse wasn't so safe anymore. The only place that was safe, really, was with each other, so we moved around as a unit.

As for finding the Wyatts, we knew that that was going to be a harder task. It was looking like it was going to prove that way, as we scoured every corridor, checked every corner. If we'd had guns or some sweet sunglasses, we'd probably have looked about as close as you could get to a real special ops team.

But there were no Wyatts—only traces of them. A lantern, recently extinguished; a sheep mask—just props in this stupid mind game. I glanced up at Dean and could see the severeness of his expression, frustration set into his jawline.

"Look, we can't screw around like this all night," Seth said finally.

"I agree," I intersected, but Seth kept on like I'd said nothing.

"They're clearly playing games with us, and I don't wanna be a part of it."

Dean sneered in Seth's general direction, and I shot him a look that said 'be nice'. We really owed Seth, after all, for getting me away from the Wyatts last time.

"You know, man, he might be right," Roman said. "Maybe regroup and see where we're at."

Dean looked between the three of us, then nodded. "I need to get ready for my match anyway," he said.

We took a shortcut through the busy production area to get back to the spot where we'd left all our stuff for the night. I was letting my mind wander a bit, playing with the grooves of my title belt. Suddenly, I felt Dean's hand grab me and pull me back, and I instantly went back onto full alert.

"What?" I said, but once I saw—or heard, rather—I didn't need him to tell me. All three of my companions were angled towards the monitors, the loud voice of Bray Wyatt booming out. He appeared to already be partway through what he'd come out to say.

"_—something of mine has been stolen, and why? Georgia… belongs to me. Are you all so blind that you can't see what's already been done?_"

Before I could look around, Dean had already wandered off and brought back a, frankly terrified looking, cameraman, dragging him by the lens of his heavy equipment.

"Wyatts!" he barked down the lens. "You're looking for a fight? Well, we're looking for one, too. See you in a minute." He pushed the cameraman away again, nearly toppling him over. The three of them set off in the direction of the curtains. I followed.

The Shield's entrance music hit, and seconds later, the four of us rounded the corner, through the curtains, and lined up at the top of the stage.

"You were meant to stay back," Dean side-mouthed to me beside him.

"Well, I'm here now," I murmured back.

Down in the ring, Bray leant forward on the ropes and put the microphone to his mouth again. "There we are, all of the ducks lined up in a row..." he sang.

Dean, Seth and Roman stepped forward and began to make their way down to the ramp, but a familiar, almost panicky-sounding voice halted them in their tracks.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Brad Maddox said, striding out from around the curtain. "I'm sorry, but I can't have another brawl on my show like last time."

Slowly, reluctantly, Dean turned around and glared at Maddox, but still keeping his body tensed and ready for a Wyatt attack.

"What I _can_ do, however, is give you a match," Maddox continued. The three Shield members started back up the ramp, Dean and Seth spouting off menacingly at the General Manager.

"You start that match right now," Dean growled hoarsely.

"Again, I'd love to," Brad said, putting his hands up defensively. "But the card's already full. You can have the match—a six-man elimination tag match—at the Pay Per View. How does that sound?"

Dean looked back at his teammates—Seth and Roman nodded.

"Alright, then," Maddox said, "that's that—"

"Wai-wai-wai-waaaait a minute," Bray said. "This match, there's certain things I'm gonna require."

"Uhh, like what?" Maddox said cluelessly.

"Something's gotta be on the line."

"The titles?" Maddox asked. "Well, you're not number one contenders…"

"Not the titles. Something far more valuable. The girl…"

At that, my blood boiled and I stormed over to Maddox and ripped the microphone from his hand. The crowd roared.

"Listen Bray," I yelled. "I don't know what kinda hick backwater you come from, but last I checked, people aren't things you can just barter—"

"YOU WILL NOT INTERRUPT ME AGAIN!" Bray boomed. My voice caught in my throat. "If my family wins," he resumed in a normal voice. "You will come with us."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I snarled.

Bray just laughed. "You will, because you don't have a choice, but to… obey."

The microphone dropped out of my hand and hit the ground with a static thud. Something was crawling through me, from the base of my neck down my body. When it reached my legs, I dropped to my knees. I tried to stand back up. I couldn't.

"Dean," I said, reaching up. He pulled me to my feet. Unable to support my own weight, he held me tight against him, one arm looped under my ribcage.

Maddox quickly moved over and scooped up the microphone again. "Uhh, okay," he said, wide-eyed. "If the Shield wins on Sunday, Bray, you have to undo whatever creepy thing you did to her." In the ring, Bray conceded a nod. "But, uh, if the Wyatts win…" Maddox looked nervously at the black-clad men surrounding him. "I guess they get Georgia."

"_WHAT?!_" Seth cried. "You gotta be kidding me!"

Both Seth and Roman got right up in Brad's face, protesting the new stipulation to the match, while he put his arms up in the air. At the end of the day, Bray held the balance of power.

"We got this," Dean said quietly next to my ear, both of us keeping our eyes on the men in the ring. "You're ours—no-one's but ours."

"I know," I said. He continued to hold me tight against him with both arms, supporting almost all of my weight, and even though I was regaining some control back over my legs now, I continued to allow him to.


End file.
